My Letters To You
by MinnieSoleil
Summary: Heartache, bitterness and lots of wine often lead to embarrassing, tear soaked letters. At least with Bella they do.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Twilight.

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><p><strong>MY LETTERS TO YOU<strong>

_**/Chapter 1/**_

Leaving my bed in the mornings is a heroic feat for me these days. It's been hard for over a year now, and with each new bright sunny day, I want to stay in bed even more. Maybe even vomit a bit. Perhaps, I could stab myself in the eye with a sparkly, sharp object.

Some days I think it will never get better.

Some days I just want the dark to stay.

Forever.

I'm blaming you right now. I blame you for my miserable existence and for everything else that is wrong in this world.

There is this rage inside of me I just can't get rid of no matter what I do. Lately I've been thinking a lot about my life. But the more I think about it, the more I want to punch myself in the face and more importantly you for turning me into such a mess.

I know I told you about my childhood before. I wonder if you ever really listened to me or if you just couldn't understand.

Fixing me was your plan.

But in order to do that, you should've listened a little closer. I get the feeling you never knew me that well at all. There is still so much about me you don't have the slightest idea about. I can't really blame you for that, because _I_ kept it a secret from you. I'm trying desperately to keep the facade of a sane human being.

So since I have your undivided attention now, or so I hope, I'm telling you all of it; not leaving a single detail out.

Suck it up. You owe me.

Did I ever tell you about this dream I have _every_ goddamn year? The one I first had when I was three years old. It's the first dream I can remember at all, and it comes back to haunt me each year, around the same time. Funny thing is - it wasn't a dream when I was three years old. It was real. My life already started with a nightmare.

At the time, I woke up from a dream I had about Bert and Ernie. I must have watched _Sesame Street _that evening. Ernie was poking his head through the door, and then I woke up in a dark bedroom. It was my bedroom at my grandmother's. There was light shining under the door, so I figured someone was home. The apartment was empty, though. Only the TV was on in the living room, showing a scary movie about a cowboy and a really huge bear. I remember it was one of those old movies in black and white. It scared the hell out of me.

So little me climbed on the hall table and grabbed a coat and put my yellow rubber boots on; I didn't want to get my cute jammies dirty. I left the house and went on a search for my gran or my mommy. When you actually think about it, I was quite clever for a three-year-old, because I knew for sure where I would find my family. In the pub not that far from home. My mom used to work there as a waitress. I still see that night crystal clear before my eyes. How I looked back every few seconds to make sure the bear wasn't following me. I even asked some strangers to take me across the street since I wasn't allowed to cross a road on my own. I knew that much. There probably wasn't even a car out on the streets late at night in our little hometown, but I was a good girl and followed directions anyway.

I got to the pub, and sure as hell, everyone was there. My gran later told me that I have always been fond of parties. It isn't surprising though, because my mom often took me to work with her. For a child, it was quite a funny thing, being around drunk people all the time. I never understood why they were always acting so strangely. I think I had my first sip of beer at the age of three. Kidding...I think.

It was only one year later that I found myself in the same situation. Again. Back at my own home with Mommy nowhere in sight. So again, I put on my coat and rubber boots and went to Gran's in the middle of the night. It was raining. Pouring, really. To say that Gran was surprised to find her four-year-old grandchild at her door in the middle of the night is quite the understatement. Turned out my mom got a good scolding for her behavior later. Again.

I know I have told you this story before, I remember that I did. Still I wonder, why you didn't find that too worrying. I think it's sad that the first real memories I have as a child are being left alone, scared to death and without my mommy.

If you were here now, I know exactly what you'd tell me: yes, your life was hard at the beginning, but you had your grandma. She cared so much for you, blah blah blah...You turned out to be such a strong person, blah blah blah.

Well, guess what?

Turns out, I'm not as strong as you think I am. It's not a suprising fact, at least not for me.

You already know my mom was a drunk. Or is. Who knows at this point? But did I ever tell you just how much liquor she needed to be able to say she loved me? Those were the nights I was always the most scared of. The nights she'd sneak in my room to wake me up and tell me she loved me. Tears were always streaming down her face. Then she'd start babbling things I couldn't understand as a child. The only thing I knew was how worried about my mom I was and that I had to get up in the morning to go to Kindergarten.

I hated being tardy. Always have. It always draws unwanted attention to you.

I thought there was something wrong with my mom. Why else would she wake me in the middle of the night crying like she did? I wanted so desperately to help her, but I just didn't understand what was wrong. I felt so utterly helpless, but most of the time ashamed of her antics when drunk.

When I told you those things thirteen years later in my life, shortly after we got to know each other, you told me it wasn't my fault. Yes, I know that now. Maybe I always have. Still, I dreaded those nights. Constant fear is not a nice feeling to live with, especially as a child. But then, you wouldn't know.

I have yet to overcome this unjustified guilt I feel toward my mom, even for things that were out of my hands.

As I lay in my bed now, I can't for the life of me figure out where things went so terribly wrong between you and me. You were everything in my life and more. You still are. My one true love. The one that can never be replaced. My soul mate, even though I don't really believe in all that lovey crap.

There is this ache in my heart. It is overwhelming and slowly killing me. Piece by piece. Day by day. Still, it's not enough to pick up the phone and call you.

YOU hurt me. YOU called me a bitch. So yeah...

YOU should call ME!

You know that I'm waiting desperately for your call. Just once in your life, you should swallow your pride and just fucking call me. You were the one who said those hurtful things to me. Yeah, I said some shit, too. I know. I know what a pain in your ass I am sometimes. Still, you know I'm not in the right frame of mind right now. Some days I'm not even able to wash the dishes or leave my apartment. The easiest tasks feel like writing a dissertation about quantum physics. How the hell am I supposed to call you and fix those things between us when I don't really know what happened anyway?

What did happen to lead us here?

Did you finally have enough of me? After all these years? Did I hit your breaking point? Finally? Or is it that I don't fit in your life anymore?

I kind of get it, though. You have _her_ now. _She_ is the total opposite of me. Not really, since you told me she has mother issues, too. Is _she_ the reason you don't call me? Is _she_ your new test subject for your social studies, now?

Or do you sit at home right now cozy on your couch in your own too-big-for-one-person house, that your mother bought you for your 28th birthday, not having a care in the world? Not having had a single job in your entire life so far? Not needing it. Your mom's credit cards have no limits.

Do you ask yourself right now if you ever had the slightest idea how fucked up I really am? How helpless? You always found my moods quirky, yet adorable. The times I don't feel like talking. The way I could listen to one sappy song on repeat for hours. The way I read books for ten hours straight. Those days when I forget to eat and sometimes even to breathe.

I guess you are fed up with me now, aren't you? Or did you realize that you were never able to handle me, to fix me. See, I think the only thing that tied you to me was… pity. Are you realizing now what a waste of space I am? And a hurtful one at that?

Wouldn't surprise me at all. I hate to say it, but…

I told you so, right from the beginning.

Even so, it hurts.

So much.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you, Bnjwl. I worship you.  
>mcc101180 and korinneraylie made this look pretty.<strong>  
><strong>And huge thanks to whomever invented PTB, internet and wine.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Twilight**

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><p><strong>My Letters To You<strong>

**/Chapter 2/**

I spoke to your mom today.

I can imagine your reply to that. _"Duh, you work for my mom."_

Is it weird that I can literally hear your voice so clearly in my head right now? That slightly mocking tone of yours that lets me know just exactly how superior you are. Maybe I'm delusional. Or maybe I'm just missing you the point where I desperately want to hear your voice again so my brain makes things up. Either way, it has always been a funny place inside my head. But that's old news to you, isn't it?

It's hard for me to see your parents every day at work. Why did I choose to work for your mom, again? I mean, yeah, I needed the money. Little old me, the college dropout - I can't do anything right, can I?

It would be helpful if you'd explain why your parents think that _I_ refuse to speak to you. Would you mind explaining why they think I'm jealous? Of _her_ of all people. Lying to your parents again, aren't you? This is one of the few things that has always bothered me the most about you. It still does. You lie about everything to them. You don't know how good you have it. You've traveled the world thanks to them, seen places in your still young life that most people never will. They bought you a huge house that you have all to yourself. Never in your life will you have to face poverty or mundane tasks as the rest of us, humble people. It's all thanks to them, and yet you're still telling them shit about the most minor things.

By the way, there's a name for that disease. It's called Pseudologia Phantastica. You can google it.

So while you're parking your lazy, carefree ass on your comfy couch all the damn time - taking everything for granted, simply wielding your scepter - here _I_ am fearing for my grandma. The only companion I have left in this shitty world - now that you're out of the picture.

God, do I wish your couch would go up in flames... right under your ass.

Gran's not feeling well at all. She's getting so much older. The clusterfuck that is my life only precipitates her aging process. She's lost so much weight. The wrinkles on her face grow deeper each passing moment and reflect a life full of hard work and too much worry. Her blood pressure borders on life-threatening. Then, of course, there's her cardiac defect. Her condition causes the bile to rise up in my throat. My hands become clammy just thinking about it. When the day comes that she's not here anymore, I might go ballistic or fall to pieces. I might end up like the year-old cupcake, still left in my fridge; long forgotten and possibly poisoning.

Do you actually care about Gran? I know she loves _you, _though she thinks I've always put you on a pedestal, too far out of reach. She doesn't believe you're _that_ special. Not like I do.

She is the only person reassuring me I _do_ have a right to be pissed at you, that I'm entitled to my own opinion without being frowned upon. She's the reason I'm still hanging on by a thread here.

Did your parents tell you that she was in the hospital _again_? For the fifteenth time this year? I always wonder if you worry about how I will cope when she's not here anymore. _Do_ you worry about that at all? Because I'm telling you right now, I won't be handling it well. What's worse than going bat-shit crazy?

It's okay to tell your parents that I'm jealous, though. Go ahead, tell them right now. But be honest with them just this once, and tell them that it's not _her_ that causes my jealousy.

I mean, really, how can you actually believe that I'm jealous of a woman that uses expressions like LOL and ROFL? And I don't mean in written form. Seriously, she claims to be a fan of the classics while drinking red wine on her ritzy chaise lounge, surrounded by her two ugly-ass cats. She's a vet and researches viruses and bacteria for a living. I am allergic to anything that sports some fur or actually breathes.

Her favorite TV show is "Dexter." I don't want to meet her in a dark alley. I seriously don't. I bet she keeps some kryptonite in her purse, too. Are you feeling weaker already?

Sense my bitterness here?

Don't you know me at all? After those twelve years we've known each other? Known each other inside out? To put it in _her_ words: "Duh!"

I have to admit that I'm chain smoking my ass off right now. I know, this nasty habit that a god-like creature such as yourself quit a lifetime ago. Please insert my enthusiastic cheering here. Add my sarcastic snort as well.

I remember that I once had a good life, too. For a few years, my mom managed to provide a stable home for me. She even threw in a real dad! Well, not _my_ dad, obviously, but close enough. Do I need to remind you that I never knew my dad,and that he died last year without giving me the chance to ever speak to him, much less getting to know him? But hey, I got a brother out of the deal. One I have never met. He is now in fear for the inheritance that my dad left him. I don't know how my real dad managed to be a father to him when he was never capable of doing the same for me. Like I want his money, even if I was born first. My brother got his car, his graduation party, his allowance, and what-the-fuck else he wanted. I got a "mom" that would send me to buy liquor for her. Notice how worked up I get while writing this? Yeah... I guess it's not as buried in my past as I thought it was. Oh well. I was meant to burst at some point. I can only bear so much.

Back to my stepfather. He was there for me, being nice and loving me, even though I wasn't his own flesh and blood. Still, he gave me everything a child required. He loved me and was not afraid to tell me so —something even my own mother couldn't say without her liquid courage and a scary, teary-eyed entrance into my bedroom in the middle of the night. I'll never understand the reason he married her. She was not _that_ pretty. I guess it was because she could break the world record for spreading her legs the fastest. Yeah, yeah, I know, not a nice thing to say.

You just keep your nasty comments to yourself now, baby. I hear you loud and clear:

"_The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it?"_

In my mind I'm telling you to shut the fuck up. No wait, I actually said that out loud. Jesus, I'm a total nutcase.

Did I ever tell you why we moved out of my stepdad's house so suddenly after ten years? The reason I had to leave my wonderful home and the only father I had ever known? I was fourteen years old at that point and surprised my mother on the couch in our living room with a man that was _certainly_ not my stepfather. They were heavily making out and drinking whiskey like there was no tomorrow. My mother's beverage of choice, by the way. She downed that shit like she was dying from dehydration.

Funny thing is, I wasn't surprised to catch her with another man — God knows that had happened plenty of times before, with me having to witness it. But catching my mom with her sister's boyfriend? Yeah, that was a new low, even for her. Imagine my surprise when she told me the next morning we were moving in with him. I had always been a very obedient and well-behaved child, but at that point, I wanted to strangle her or maybe punch some sense into her. With a heavy object. Repeatedly.

It was the first time I ever put my foot down and told her _no_.

I was able to move in with my grandma first. But after two weeks, I had to go back to my mom. I hated her new boyfriend with a fiery passion. So when I asked her why she had done all this to me, I still didn't think there would ever come a time when I wouldn't love her anymore, despite her flaws and this weird guilt I felt toward her. In my mind, there was nothing she could do or say that would make me love her any less. I had endured so much already: the not letting me see my biological father, the ripping me away from a good home, the constant drinking, the day a schoolmate told me I had a sister that my mom had given up for adoption and her refusal to talk about it or talk about anything for that matter, the emotional neglect. The list goes on and on. I don't want to bore you to death with reciting my mom's every failure. You know most of this anyway. Remember the uncountable times I cried about it? You really didn't know how to console me, but you tried anyway. I never really thanked you for that, did I?

Back then I still thought I could bear a lot more, until she uttered the words that showed her true shallow colors. The words that made me realize just how "important" I was to her, that I was ranking even lower on her list than I thought to begin with:

"But honey, he has a dishwasher in his beautiful home."

Yeah, go fuck yourself, Mommy dearest.

As you are reading this now, do you finally understand the reason of my jealousy? I mean, yeah, who am I kidding, I don't really like the fact that _she_ is in your life now, but sometimes I wish your carefree life was mine. So badly. I'm just so tired of fighting and trying to be strong all the damn time.

On top of that, you didn't answer my text message. Remember? I sent: I love you and miss you.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Damn cell phone doesn't beep a single time other than to remind me it's time to wake up and go to work. I know where you're going with this. You're being stubborn on purpose to show me what I've done wrong. You know, baby, I try so hard to be different, to be someone else. Not just for you, but for myself too.

I just cannot help myself. My brain constantly shouts at me to change. It even calls me nasty names. It's so hard. I just don't know how to be normal.

I really, really don't.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Twilight.**

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><p><strong>Warning: some drug use coming up.<strong>

**But it gets better. I promise. Just not this chapter. Or the following 10...**

**I'll better run for cover.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3/**

Are you tired of my ramblings, yet? Tired of my never-ending problems and heavy-as-fuck baggage? Or are you eating this up? I figure I'm at least useful for your social studies and you majoring in Psychology. I mean, who else has the chance to study a total nutcase in its natural habitat?

Am I hurting you with my bluntness? Well, that's how I feel occasionally. Still do ninety-five percent of the day. Not really sure you're cut out to be a psychologist; after all, you're failing miserably with me so far.

Tell you what though, baby, we are slowly getting to the part where we first met. Excited? I know I am.

I bet you want me to pet your head right now. Praising your awesomeness, your incredible talents as a lover, having me scream your name in a matter of seconds. You surely want me to praise your sensitivity, gentleness, unbelievable intelligence and the god given fact that you're always right.

Insert sarcasm here, please.

I'm nothing if not polite.

But before we rehash our golden times and the way I wrecked it all from my point of view, we really, really have to cover the time when it was either make or break me. Do you have a vague idea about this time in my life? I bet you do. It's this one nasty, black spot in my curriculum vitae. The period I wish I could wipe out with a magic eraser. This one chapter in my life I never wanted to talk about, always been evasive about and changed the subject. Quite subtly, if I say so myself. Sugar coating it wasn't really an option.

Yeah, I have been the master of distraction. With my boobs. Very few people actually know what really happened after moving in with my mom's new boyfriend. Surprisingly, you're not one of them. Disappointed? Don't be, baby. I wanted to spare you this disaster. The monumental fail in my existence. I wasn't so sure you could handle it very well, given your sheltered upbringing.

I'm still not sure you can.

Here goes nothing. Try to wrap your pretty, little, wanna-be-psychologist's head around this:

Shortly after moving in with my mom's new boyfriend, I went through a full-on teenage rebellion. It was his demands for early Saturday morning "family" breakfasts that sent me over the edge.

Yeah right, douche. What an idiot.

I guess my mom never told him that I have _always_ been allowed to sleep in on the weekends. Lunch was the earliest I ever had to be present at. Less meals to prepare for her, I guess. Yeah, you try and tell a teenager that she's not allowed to sleep in anymore. Good luck with that.

Suffice to say, it went all downhill from there. I guess if I'm being honest here, it never really stood a chance at all anyway. I was just looking for the first excuse to be done with him, and my mom.

The new love of her life was supposedly successful in some business in Russia at the time and was often away. I used to call it "doing prostitutes" and "being a member of the Russian mafia." But what did I know, right? My mom certainly didn't mind the money, no matter where it came from. It supported her drinking habits on lonely nights just fine. In hindsight, I should be thankful that she never once crossed the line and became violent with me. She only took her hate out on herself. I should write my mom a thank you note, don't you think? Someday.

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

So Mom was home alone most of the time and at this point, you already know her favorite hobby.

"_Drinking herself into a coma?"_

Yeah, you got that right, smarty-pants. And the Golden Onion goes to... you, eager beaver!

I was fifteen and pretty much allowed to do anything I wanted. Well, I wouldn't say I was _allowed _exactly, but my mom simply didn't care.

It was around the time I had my first real friends. Friends, as in plural. Quite the feat for a fifteen year old, don't you think? Well, you see I was never allowed to bring friends home. Up until this point, I had only had one best friend, but she stopped being my friend when I discovered that boys weren't really useless and ugly anymore.

Anyway, I had this huge bunch of new "friends" now. They weren't really the kind of friends you'd want your kid to have. They were into all sorts of shit…smoking pot, rolling on E, and God knows what other shady shit. I felt free for the first time in my life, eagerly participating. It was exciting and new and simply awesome. I was noticed and "cared" for. People wanted to talk to me; they wanted to be around me. They cared about me and my opinions. I threw parties at my home whenever Mom wasn't around. They were fun, and I craved their attention. Badly. Having been the good girl my whole life, I was dying to let go and be a little reckless. These days, I regret the decisions I made when I was my most vulnerable and so incredibly naïve. But you can't turn back time, can you? What's a girl gotta do when lonely and feeling abandoned? Simple, you cling to the first good thing that comes along your way.

Sadly for me, I clung to this one guy who was the first in showing me some attention. Old nerdy hermit-me couldn't tell an asshole from a phone booth. He was my first real hormonal fangirl crush. Rapid heartbeat, spastastic articulation and all. He was a few years older, charming, mysterious. I thought he had life all figured out. And I worshipped the ground he walked on. My eyelashes were morse code telling him: You're a God, I nearly peed my pants because you looked at me, for a whole second. He gave me my first real kiss, and I lost my virginity to him two months after we met. I was far from sober. Drinking some hard stuff in the blasting summer heat will do that to a girl. I remember very little since I had indulged in more alcohol that I ever had before. It was shameful and it hurt. A fucking lot! The nightmare seemed to last forever. It paved the way into my ultimate slut-dom.

My friends told me they had to clean my blood from that stupid couch in a friend's living room afterward. It doesn't get any more humiliating than that. Nevertheless, he was my first boyfriend, and I thought I loved him. I imagined a pink and fluffy future with him.

Well, he dumped me after popping my cherry.

I learned years later that it was kind of a hobby for him to take a girl's virginity and then dump them. I learned even later that he still doesn't have life figured out at all. The various drugs will do that to your brain cells. But what's done is done. No need to fret about it anymore. If I could turn back time, I'd make sure not to make the same mistakes again. But ultimately, they led me to you. I guess. Not sure if it's a blessing or a curse, though.

Where was I? Yeah, my mom was drunk off her ass every single day by then. So it was no surprise when on her birthday, she had to be brought home by a colleague from work. She couldn't walk a straight line to safe her life much less drive her car. I had to put her in the shower with all her clothes on to try and sober her up. I begged her to change, to notice me, to care for me, to just love me, to stop wrecking herself.

Well, she didn't. Surprised, huh? Sometimes I wonder what she'd think of you. You're all she ever "worked" for her whole life. In one word? Wealth. I'm not sure she'd be proud of me or slap me silly for letting you go without your ring on my finger. Probably the latter.

I started to ditch school every now and then. And suddenly there was this new guy. He was tall, very handsome, and simply stunning. Built like an athlete. Hazel eyes. His dyed blond hair was shaped into a Mohawk. He had this bad boy persona going on and there were lots of rumors about him taking hard drugs. Still he could talk every girl out of their panties in record time.

Suffice to say, I fell for him immediately.

But I wasn't this innocent girl anymore. God knows I already knew the power of sex by then, my mom being the best teacher, figuratively.

I tried to catch his attention at school. You remember how you used to tell me on a regular basis that I am beautiful? I don't believe this now and certainly didn't think so back then. I just learned early on how to put my assets in the spotlight, you know? But one day - and I don't know if it was for my beauty (I'm snorting) or my too huge boobs for my tiny body - he did notice me.

And it was the beginning of the end.

My end.

He started to hang out with my friends every day. We would meet up, smoke some pot, drink cheap booze, and roll on E. I was mesmerized, but honestly, barely not a single day went by that I wasn't high on something. Yet, he was so gentle. A fragile human being underneath the bad boy image. Obviously we craved the same thing. LOVE. No matter from whom. We talked for hours. I told him everything about my life: my mother who neglected me, my daddy issues, everything. We had only kissed once before we decided to run away to the big city.

I ignored my friends' warnings. I didn't even care anymore. I just wanted to get away. Out of my life. No matter what, no matter with whom. Though I won't lie, I thought I wanted it to be him who took me away from it all. He cherished me, promised me the world and more. Promised to take care of me, like my mother always should have.

He was gorgeous. A real man compared to the scrawny, pimply guys in my class. Despite him being only one year older, he knew his way around the world.

I was sixteen and wanted to start living. Finally. Preferably with him. Jesus, I seriously want to roll my eyes at my own stupidity.

Far too late did I realize he was doing heroin. Even later than that did I realize he was working the streets for money.

You see, after we ran away together, he provided everything for me: A nice apartment, food, and some spending money. We didn't have a lot, but we had our love, or so I thought.

He taught me how to do everything.

Sexually.

How to give a blow job, how to ride him real good, how to take it up the ass and still a little bit further. He showed me what to do with my own body. Taught me how to take my own pleasure. And I know, he really cared for me, loved me even. With everything he had. The only way he knew how to. And damn, did he know how to make me feel like a princess and a goddess at times.

Looking back now, I realize I was still a child and so incredibly naïve. Craving only my mommy's love and yet giving mine so easily to some random person.

I didn't have a job. Obviously. I was sixteen, a high school dropout and a runaway. I trusted him with my life. There was no other way. He was the only person I had left.

Funny how one night – just a few hours - can change your whole perspective. This one night he came home with a lot of money in his pockets. He fed me a line about having met some friends who paid back some money they borrowed from him. We went out, I figured out later that he was searching for some heroin. I didn't realize this immediately, simply wondered what we were doing in this creepy area of town, roaming dark alleys. Eventually he found what he was searching for.

Back home, he showed me that stuff, packed into a small ball, looking like no harm could come from a thing this small. He said he just wanted us to try together. Trip together. One time.

The first time, I only watched. Watched the bliss on his face. The second, I participated, fearing I'd lose him if I didn't. I wanted that bliss for myself. I watched him, putting the needle into my veins, squirting the damned liquid into my system.

It was nothing like I'd ever felt before. The vomiting that came after was the best feeling in the world and simultaneously the worst. I knew then he was an addict. It just clicked in my head. I knew then that _he_ was taking it up the ass, to get money, to buy the next shot and I knew then I had to get away from him. Get away before it was _me_working the streets.

Yes, the shit was that good.

To this day, I'm still afraid of needles. Drawing blood at the doctor's is a drama with me. Though he never meant any harm, I had to leave him after six months. He was too far gone, and he started to get violent. I told him I wanted to go back home and he flipped out; lost his shit completely. He was too afraid of losing me, his anchor. The only companion he had left. In his fear he begged, screamed, and started to choke me. Tears fell heavily in our frenzy.

On both our faces.

In the end, I ran from him, too. I went back home to my gran. A year later, he was found in a public restroom. OD'd. I didn't go to his funeral, simply because I liked to run from my past.

Strange thing is that sometimes I still miss him and often think of him. It's twisted that for the longest time, with him, I felt cared for.

Welcome to my world.

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><p><strong>AN: Last chapter the moron forgot to thank all her lovelies. **

**The moron? **

**That'd be me.**

**For Bnjwl.**

**A huge thank you to mcc101180, Korinneraylie, and ButterflyBetty Cullen. Not to forget Pain Jane for beta'ing chapter 2. **

**Thanks to everyone reading & reviewing.  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Twilight**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4/**

I had a dream about you last night. Somehow I dreamed of the night we first met. It was a fairly nice dream until I woke up, my PJs soaked with sweat. And no, it wasn't a sexy dream, perv. You wish...

I know what you're waiting for now. You want to finally know what I thought about the first time we met, what I thought about you, right? It's weird that we've never really talked about it, don't you think?

Well, it's nothing to get all excited about. Hell, it's kinda embarrassing. My drunk performance left quite the impression, didn't it? Hell, my awesomeness comes naturally. It's a gift. Jesus, I want to roll my eyes at my younger self.

Maybe you deserve better. I used to tell you so, again and again. You wouldn't listen, though. Could it be that you're quite fond of crazy people? The constant drama?

What?

You know...

_Her_.

_She_ doesn't seem to be all sunshine and rainbows, either.

I can already hear you saying:

"_You haven't even met _her_."_

Meh, I'm choosing to ignore your voice right now.

Or not.

Of course I haven't met _her_! Why the hell would I?

Anyway, I'm not remotely interested in talking about her.

Okay, maybe this one little thing...

Your mom told me _she_ redecorated your bedroom. I sure hope you feel all cozy underneath the pink stars scattered on your bedroom ceiling. At least that's what I imagine _she_ did to your room. Feeling all manly now? Just so you know: I actually snorted while writing this. I know you liked and supported my Hello Kitty fetish. So that shouldn't be any different now, should it? You're such a girly type.

Are you still sleeping in the same sheets with her that we slept in first?

Does that feel nice? Is this some kind of fetish you have? Is it turning you on beyond any morals? Did you tell her that though? The way you told me - that she slept there the night after we last spent a weekend together in your house? In your bed. Did she find all my things still left in your house? Is she Comparing my choice in underwear to hers? What about trying on my bras but not filling them out?

Gotta love Facebook.

Note to your new plaything: taking photos of yourself in a blazingly lit bathroom, scantly clad in ratty, too-tight tank tops? Not working in your favor so much, honey.

I just can't fathom how _she_ does that. Being with you, while finding all my stuff. Doesn't _she_ ask any questions? I mean, _she_ must have found my belongings scattered all around your house. Hell, even some of my hair must be laying around on your sheets as well as several other places for that matter.

Why doesn't _she_ feel like an intruder, but _I_ do?

I can only imagine, how you explained my existence.

Liar, liar pants on fire!

Speaking of lying. I wonder when _she_ will start to notice your affinity for lying. Hell, maybe she doesn't care. My handwriting all over your place doesn't seem to bother _her_ at all. Bitch.

You've often told me I have a heart of ice – with the sensitivity of a bulldozer. Thanks for the compliment, by the way.

I can be a little pragmatic at times, I know that, but I certainly don't have a heart of ice. You know what proves that?

The fact that I feel kind of bad for _her_ does!

The way you're treating _her_? It's awful.

But then again, _she's_ apparently willing to live with a lie.

Your mom thinks it's not nice leading _her_ on. We all know you're not looking for something serious with _her_. Your family calls _her_ by _my_ name. Accidentally. Or so they tell me. Hmmm... yeah, I don't believe in that sort of accident. Our names are nothing alike. Gotta love your family. Your mom's a hoot. She thinks your new girl would be perfect for your brother.

Your very married brother.

I'm laughing my ass off as I'm writing this. Does he have a fetish for nutcases, too? I guess it makes sense: all of his girlfriends were slightly crazy as well.

It must run in the family. Genetic defect, I'm sure.

Your parents hope we'll be together again one day. It's not likely their dream will come true, though. Not with you being all vanilla, knowing everything better and me being mean all the damn time and needing to get the last word in. It's a match made in hell. Yeah, maybe we weren't the best couple in the world, but our friendship was one of a kind.

I don't think you can ever achieve with _her_ what we had. Have?

I mean, her favorite musician is David Guetta. And I use the term musician very loosely here.

Wow... Euro trash techno... Seriously?

That's the type of woman you go for now? The total opposite of me?

She looks freakishly tall. At least in the pictures Facebook allows me to see. Not that I'm stalking her or anything.

Me? I believe I stopped growing in first grade. I still blame my mom for smoking while pregnant with me. Thanks Mommy!

She's blonde, oh so obviously fake. She researches bacteria and viruses for a living – a vet who is actually scared of ants - while I try to help people with financial problems. Funny 'cause I can barely help myself. She tries to cure your headaches with medications that could put a horse to sleep... for eternity.

I can only hope she likes granola just like you do. I bet she does - she looks the type. Yeah, Facebook really helps my stalker tendencies, though I am smart enough to admit that I'm only hurting myself with this crap. I'm sure you don't have to drive to McDonald's in the middle of the night for a greasy burger with her. Still a habit I haven't given up by the way, just in case you were wondering. Does she support your lack of a job, like I did? Does she care that you're always home, browsing the internet, trying your hand at composing "music," never going out, except to buy groceries. Does she care that you take in psychotic weird strangers and allow them to live in your house? Permanently. Does she support your gambling? Remember all the fun we had, all the money we made?

I digress.

I hear your sweet, silky, cocky voice telling me very sarcastically:

"_You sure you're not jealous of _her?_"_

Yeah, so much for me not being remotely interested in talking about her. I'm a walking contradiction. And an idiot.

But you loved it. Just like I loved you bugging me with your super-brain, explaining the world to me. Even when I didn't even ask a question. I miss the way you get so excited about every little thing. I miss the light that takes over your face as you go all out.

I miss you.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Thank you B for holding my hand and just being you.**

**My **_**steady**_** Beta Mel is the bestest. You can look but I don't share.**

**A huge thank you to HEAR who beta'ed this chap, too. **

**Go check out The Lemonade Stand. The ladies are all very entertaining.**

**My coffee-sprayed screen approves. **


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5/**

My dear darling, (How's that for a nice start?)

Since you obviously still refuse to call me, I welcome you back to a new episode of

"How to harass someone through letters and cyber stalk their potential new girlfriend."

A heartwarming Jerry-Springer-like welcome to you!

All my snark aside, I want you to know that I still love you and miss you. So much. I don't feel complete without you in my life. There's something missing, and I yearn to see your face, to feel you near me. Every day that goes by without me talking to you is a wasted day. But I wonder if it's the same for you. I'm guessing it isn't - since you apparently don't have the slightest desire to talk to me. Cue silent cell phone.

Damn.

Though I promised to tell you about the day our different worlds collided, I have to get something else off my chest. It's important for you to understand how I really tick, since I don't think you do.

Remember my trip to the city, or as I call it, "the time we shall never speak of again"? When I came back, my gran took me in. That part you know since you've been to our apartment before. A lot.

But before our collision in 1999, I had been dating my high school sweetheart for about a year, right before I ran away. I've known him since second grade, so I already knew him quite a bit. He was, or still is, a nice, down-to-earth guy - handsome, caring, with just a little bit of bad boy thrown into the mix and a mean motorcycle. Hell, mentioning his name would've sufficed, heh? Since you know him and all...

After my "absence", I met him randomly at a party in our little hometown. It was summer break, and the news that I was back spread like wildfire. I was welcomed back immediately by all my friends, but they were acting differently, strange somehow. Not sure what to say to me, I guess. Or how to handle me after all this trauma. They must have felt the need to treat me very carefully. The pity showing in their eyes sometimes made me nauseous.

He, however, was not the kind to pity me. He told me how stupid I had been. Reckless even. There was no beating around the bush with him. We had a great night, and guess what?

I fell for him.

Sensing a pattern there yet? Any guy showing me some guidance is welcomed wholeheartedly by me. I crave the attention and love from the first person willing to be nice to me. Yeah, I self-analyzed myself to the point where I was ready to throw myself in front of a bus.

Well, I was nearly eighteen at this point, and we had been together for almost a year. I often stayed over at his house overnight - his family was cool with it and so was my gran. No surprise there, since she is that awesome.

For the first time in my life, we did things that couples our age normally did. We went out on dates, saw movies, and had cozy evenings on the couch. No drugs whatsoever involved. He taught me how to ride a motorcycle. I enjoyed it so much – until I mowed his parent's lawn... with my face.

To thank him for just simply being awesome, I popped his cherry.

After two months of dating.

Yay me, for holding back that long, by the way.

I didn't know he was a virgin then. He told me a little while later. I would have never guessed. Not with the way he looked and girls always chasing him left and right. Yeah, I was flattered. He wanted to have his first time with me.

Me!

The runaway. The poor, wrecked little girl with a shady past already, at the mere age of seventeen. Please note that I'm making fun of myself here. Maybe I shouldn't have felt so flattered after all - maybe my bedroom-skills were the only thing that interested him in me in the first place. I don't know. It's always the same. I bet you weren't interested in my sharp brain when we met for the first time, either. More the fullness of my boobs. You'd never admit it, though. Gentlemanly crap and all...

But for me, he was a safe haven… until he dumped me, for no reason.

I had just gotten my driver's license and a car. Proud as fuck over finally achieving something good all on my own. It was a tiny car, but a car nonetheless.

I guess I was more serious than he was at the point. With us being so young.

I really shouldn't complain though because everything happens for a reason. And the reason was you. His breaking up with me led me to you.

Coincidentally, it was back at my buddy's house that the world threw us together.

Though that's not the first time I saw you. I saw you and your brother driving by in his expensive sports car, merely five minutes before I was headed out to go see said friend. I was standing on my gran's balcony, looking at the night sky and smoking a cigarette.

And then everything felt like in slow motion.

There you were, music blaring out of the open windows of your brother's Honda. I didn't know it was you, yet. But I did wonder what idiots would be out driving with that loud ass music going in the middle of the night. You played that awful techno music.

David Guetta, anyone?

It sucked ass.

I might have cussed you idiots out, loudly.

But eventually we did meet. Boy, did we ever.

Suddenly you were there. Right in the middle of my life. With _my_ friends. There was no escaping you. You sucked me right into your world.

Somehow you had lived in my small town for several years and yet we had never met before… beats me how the hell that was possible. But there you were - in all your glory: all boyish and sweet, with your huge puppy dog eyes, stylish, showing off your money and your weird brother hitting on me all the damn time, with tacky lines. Ugh. I shudder just thinking about it. I love your brother to death, but... eww.

I didn't pay too much attention to you at first, figured you were way too sweet for me. Plus you kind of got on my nerves. Too cheery, too loud, too happy and always trying too hard to be cool. Not to mention that my boyfriend had recently broken up with me.

Still...

Something intrigued me.

Maybe it was the other girls trying to jump your bones that had me wanting to pee on your leg.

Maybe it was those damn shining eyes of yours that sought mine every few seconds.

Maybe, just maybe, Gran's self-made cherry wine had me thinking you were a god.

So yeah.

By the end of the night, I _might_ have hit on you.

I was a touchy feely drunk... still am. So... yeah, I definitely hit on you and maybe even tried to cop a feel.

But you declined.

At least it was politely delivered.

You told me you had a girlfriend overseas. You told me you were waiting for her to return. Desperately so.

Didn't take you long to get rid of her, though, did it, baby? She didn't even have the chance to step one foot back into the country before you dumped her ass.

I see now, how easy it is for you to replace your "soulmate" ...

... in the blink of an eye.

Asshole.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**All my gratitude goes out to everyone reading, alerting and reviewing this. Thanks for being so kind to me. **

**Bnjwl, I love you. You know why.**

**Mcc101180 is my one and only beta from now on (Thank you, PTB). She's awesome and all mine. So... hands off ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6/**

You are here.

Now.

In our hometown.

So am I.

It's Easter and I'm spending the time with my gran. I'm sitting on her balcony, watching the early night sky. I might be drinking a glass of sparkling wine. Or two.

You're at your parents. Doing what? Who the hell knows.

I want to run to you. And then again...not. I want to jump over this damn balcony and run straight into your arms. But then again... the thought of being in your arms now suffocates me. It's sucking the air right out of me – leaving me breathless.

Only a tiny mile separates us, but it feels like a journey to another continent and back. Like Frodo's walk to Mordor. I'm wearing the magic ring that makes me invisible – to you.

You finally replied to my text message today. Took you long enough, baby. Three days. Really?

Your answer was awkward but polite. Always polite - that's just how you are. I want to slap that politeness right out of you.

We chatted some the whole day via text messages. It was a good day for me. No... it was the best day I've had in the last 64 days. Yeah, I'm counting the days since I last saw you. Sue me. Because today you finally answered my goddamn text. Amazing how a few empty phrases from you still make my pulse racing. Though I craved this fucking text so much I long to hear your voice even more.

I was _this_ close to stopping by your house for a surprise visit today. My gran even tried to convince me to just go and see you. She can't bear to see me miserable like this. She hates the vacant look in my eyes and the way I retreat from everyone and everything. Barely speaking and escaping into a world of fiction. What's left for me to do besides read? The few friends I had... I drove them away like a pro. No one wants to be around the weird emo girl. The weirdo that is either constantly crying or partying and drinking without abandon. The weirdo that is always the cause for drama. I believe they feared I was one step away from slitting my wrists. I don't have a death wish, you idiots. I just want my best friend back.

As it turned out, it was a wise decision not to grace you with my presence on a whim. The result of that would have been hard to face - with your family around and my gran breathing down my neck.

Throughout the whole day I had this intuition. This certain feeling that sticks to you like gum in your hair. There is no other way around. You have to cut it out. Plain and simple. Why do I feel like _I_ have been cut out of your hair, though? It's this feeling that nothing comes easy in life. That nothing _is_ easy in life. At least not in mine. Never has, never will. I accepted my fate.

I'd pat myself on the back right now for always listening to my gut, but I am simply too sad to raise my hand. Writing this is hard enough as it is.

I should have known you'd bring _her_ here. But "should have known" with you is like predicting the winning numbers for the lottery. For such an intelligent man, the idiocy you're showing sometimes still takes me by surprise.

Why are you doing this to me? Why would you bring _her_ here? You said yourself you don't want her as your girlfriend. Did you change your mind? Why do you bring _her_ to our little hometown? You know damn well there is this huge possibility we might run into each other. Is this some kind of revenge or is _she_ that special, you simply have to have her in your life and around your family. That is my family, too, you know? The only one I've ever had. Really.

I am shaking right now, and breathing has never been this hard before. The damn tears won't stop falling. I don't even really know why I am crying like this. Or do I? God, I don't know anything anymore. Except the fact that I don't want _her_ in your life. I want _her_ gone. Just the two of us. That's how it has always been - how it should be.

The nerve of you, just mentioning in passing that _she_ is here. Via text message! You stupid son of a b... You know this breaks my heart, don't you? I hate you so much right now. Did you do this on purpose? Trying to get a reaction out of me? Well, you're damn straight you got your reaction. Did you read my message yet? It's the usual crap I'm pulling, isn't it? But I mean it.

I know exactly why you haven't answered my latest fuckery so far. Your voice in my head goes something like this:

"_This shit you're sending me doesn't deserve a reply. You should take a breath, think about it and call me when once you've calmed down."_

Wrong, moron.

You should have jumped into your car and driven that goddamn mile to my gran's house, where I am sitting and watching the cars driving by. Hoping one of them is you, begging one of them is you.

Counting the minutes...

Still counting...

Nothing.

Can't you just assure me that you'll be always there for me? Please? Tell me everything will be all right. Just one more time.

Thinking doesn't do me any good. It's all I am doing. All the fucking time and it is driving me bat-shit crazy. I am frantic and restless. I can't sleep. And I don't know what to do anymore.

What I wish is for you to be here. With me. Holding me in your arms. Not with _her_.

I have this image in my head, where you show her my texts. And the two of you laugh your asses off about the crazy girl. I'm imagining _her_ telling you I am nuts and that I am no good for you.

Well, tell your blonde, red wine drinking cat lady, that I already know this. I'm not an idiot just lonely without you.

I should let you go. Should've done so a long time ago. But how can I let go of the only good thing that ever happened to me? You tell me.

In my last text I even told you, she is without a doubt better than me. Do I mean it? Maybe. Still I know we could be awesome. Again.

But all I ever do is hold you back.

The fact that you don't reply to that is critical. Does my cell phone staying silent mean you agree with me?

I tried to let you go. Over and over and over again. I know I'm always bringing you down with me. But letting you go means I am losing my heart. There is not much to beat for anyway, without you.

I imagine you with _her_ at your parents'. In the kitchen, the living room, your old bedroom. Will _she_ sleep in your old bedroom with you? Just like we used to do? Are my things still in there? My Hello Kitty snow globe? Is it watching you, while you're probably fucking. Pardon me... _making love _...You have never been one to fuck. Dirty, filthy, hard... that's not your style. Softly, gently, carefully is how you operate. It used to drive me mad when we were still a couple. Now it's all I crave.

Are you talking to _her_ about me? Did you tell _her_ what a nutcase I am, yet? That I never really appreciated you? Do you tell _her_ all those things you used to tell me? That I am beautiful. That I am special. That I matter. To you. Did you tell _her_, how I couldn't be a good girlfriend to you? Why I can't be your girlfriend now, though I want to so much?

I think I just saw your dad's car driving by. Were you in it? Are you going out? With _her_? Did you see me sitting on my gran's balcony?

Did you decide you don't care anymore?

I can't really blame you, for I am trying so hard not to care anymore, either.

So far …

…. I'm failing miserably.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**A million hugs and kisses for everyone reading this mess.**

**For B. I love you**

**mcc101180, the bestest beta, congratulations, baby.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

><p><strong>My Letters To You<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7/**

I guess we didn't see each other on Easter, huh?

As small as our hometown is, you know all the tricks to disappear into thin air, you clever thing. But then again, maybe you're just a coward. And maybe it's for the better that I didn't run into you.

I might have bitch-slapped you. Well, not really. I'm not the violent type and can hardly do any damage with these skinny arms of mine. But I would have liked to pull _her_ hair.

So much.

The few text messages we typed that weekend didn't really clear things up between us, did they? Actually, not at all. Did you seriously think it would soothe me when you told me you're not a couple, rather just "friends +"? Was I meant to applaud you or give you the manly fist-bump?

What the fuck does "+" mean, anyway?

Misspelling on your part? God, I hope this was just an auto-correct screw up. Please?

"_Don't be so dense, Bella. It doesn't suit you. Because let's be honest with each other, you know exactly what it means." _

There goes your voice inside my head again...

Yes, I know what it means, but I want to ignore it, don't want it to be true. This is so unreal. I've never seen you with another girl in all these years I've known you. You've never mentioned one. Come on, you didn't even have time to get yourself a girlfriend or fuck-buddy - or whatever it is you call her - after we split up nine years ago. I was always around. And when I wasn't there with you, we were on the phone for hours. You were talking me into sleep with mundane chatter or discussing the endlessness of the universe.

The once so bright stars seem dull to me now. See? I _can_ be romantic or rather cheesy.

So, after all these years, you decide to get yourself some action? I mean, you said yourself she's not your girlfriend, so are you just screwing _her_? Are you having freaky doctor-sex with _her_? Animal-style? That is so unusual for you and has me utterly confused. Remember when you told me there is no sex for you when you're not in love? Back in February - when we had our romp - was _that_ being in love for you? Or was it a mistake?

Am I the foolish one here for thinking we could give "us" another chance? What now? What is this thing you have with _her_? And what the hell is this thing you have with me? Just tell me. Who am I to you?

I think I'm going to be sick. The possibilities in my head – they're just... ugh. I strongly hope banging my head against the table top, repeatedly, will get rid of this feeling I have that I'll be the sore loser.

Ouch.

Nope, it doesn't.

Isn't it odd that we never really talked about our sex lives these past few years. If you had girls to screw, I didn't know. Would that actually be something you'd confide in me as your best friend - given our romantic history? I'm not sure, because I didn't confide in you concerning my nighttime activities either. What I know for sure is that you didn't have a girlfriend in the last nine years. Kind of a fact that'd be hard to disguise, since we shared your bed all the time - in a non-sexual way, until recently. How did you manage? Didn't you have a libido at all? No needs whatsoever? That doesn't seem healthy to me. Or were you just as sneaky as I was and got something secretly? Too ashamed the other one wouldn't approve of your choice in release-seeking. Too ashamed that you could never find something as unique as we had. You've never had that twinkle in your eyes for any other person—the one you always had when we were still together.

Though it's useless to rack my brain about the "what ifs," it's all I got at the moment. Replaying every second of us again and again before my eyes – browsing my brain for our best moments – is all I have.

My life is so dull without you… working… thinking of you… working some more…still thinking of you… coming home… thinking of you…having dinner… still thinking of you. Notice the pattern there?

I'm thinking of you, thinking of you, thinking of you, crying about you, wondering about _her. _I wonder where I fit in in all this mess.

Can you say: obsession?

Actually I'm wondering why the guys from the loony bin still haven't approached me... very carefully... with a straitjacket handy. Maybe even some drugs ready - enough to be able to put a horse to sleep.

"_Provided by my new 'girlfriend,' surely?" _

Definitely.

Stop laughing your ass off.

I don't see any humor in this. I'm already picturing _her_ coming after me with a huge ass syringe - filled to the brim with some horse narcotic – screaming: "Hold her down, hold her down."

Talk about fury in the slaughterhouse.

How did she manage to weasel herself into your life and kick me right out of it in record time?

On top of all that crap, your parents are walking on egg shells around me since the holidays. Do I have the crazy eyes already? Does it say "loser" on my forehead? What did you actually tell them about our fight that has them looking all sad and pitiful at me? Huh? Did you manage to convince them, yet again, that you're an angel?

You didn't tell them the truth, right? Rather some story about me being all jealous of _her_. I know you're the golden boy. Nothing can shatter this. It's a universal law. Feel free to pat your own back. But don't judge me for spelling "golden" like this:

C

O

W

A

R

D

I had lunch with your mom a few days ago, and I don't get the impression that she likes your new girl very much. She kept telling me how you guys aren't really cozy with each other - not like we were. Never touching... at least that is somewhat soothing...

Not soothing whatsoever is the fact that we actually talked on the phone today. Wasn't it what I wanted for all this time now? Damn right it was, but I pictured our conversation a little differently and dare I say even longer than the mere thirty seconds you had for me. Best friend, anyone? I thought we could go back to how we were. That thought, however, was out of the window when you mentioned - casually – you were on vacation with her, the week after Easter.

Why is everything nowadays "casual" with you? What's up with that? This casual screwing guy who has friends with benefits – that's not you. You, the upholder of moral standards, suddenly fucking your best friend over? Literally. You should be ashamed of yourself. And that's not just my broken pride speaking.

So while you were on vacation, I used my time wisely and figured I should write you an email to explain my erratic behavior. Did you notice yet, that it's always me apologizing, by the way? I'm apologizing for something I didn't even do wrong. Remind me to face-palm myself the next time.

But I thought- what the heck- and poured my heart and soul into this email.

Said email sat for seven days in your inbox.

Unopened.

If that's not a slap in the face, I don't know what is.

I deleted it.

Do you regret giving me free access to all your password-protected things, yet? I've learned so much from a phenomenal tech-geek. The geek that is you.

When did we go from sharing bodily fluids, passwords and toothbrushes, seeing each other naked to you not even reading my emails?

Resourceful- that's what I am. And thanks to my gold-medal-worth stalker techniques, otherwise known as Facebook, I know now that she lives in your house. Most of the time. She even brought her two cats.

Does she sleep in your bedroom? Stupid question on my part. I know.

I hate you for this.

You've known her for such a short amount of time, yet you still manage to involve her in every aspect of your life. She is even friends with some of your relatives. I want to punch you. Hard. Choke you and beat some sense into you. With a baseball bat. She's even friends with your brother's wife - a former good friend of mine, before she went all psycho on my ass. It seems I'm a magnet to all my fellow lunatics in this world.

I don't know how the hell these two - pardon my language - bitches even met, since your brother is divorcing her ass and doesn't even live with her anymore. Does she speak ill of me to appease _her_? Does that make it easier for _her_ to get in your pants? In your well-equipped pants?

Why yes, I remember. Shocker? That kind of thing is hard to forget. Pardon the pun.

I know you couldn't make use of the wonder you're sporting in your pants for nine years with me - until February. We were best friends, you know, not friends with benefits. No friends with a "+."

All that time… did you want to "make love" to me?

Did you imagine a future with me, and I was too blind to see?

Are you happy now with her? Does she fuck you better than I did?

I highly doubt it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**Thanks to every single one of you who's reading, reviewing, alerting or simply chewing their nails over this mess.**

**B, you know the drill: ILY and will name my firstborn after you. No matter the gender.  
><strong>

**Mel, I want to put you in my poket and hug you every few seconds.  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't Twilight.**

**This is a little bit sweet, but don't get used to it. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8/**

* * *

><p>Might be that I'm sitting in front of my laptop right now.<p>

I won't either confirm or deny that I'm browsing _her_ Facebook profile... again. While you might think "again" means three times a day, I assure you I can count my stalker incidents on both hands. You can call bullshit all you want; it doesn't change the fact that I'm trying to be reasonable here. It doesn't change the fact that you've probably done a little cyber stalking yourself. Too bad I don't upload slutty pictures of myself, isn't it?

But when I do browse her profile, I start to wonder...

I've come so far in these twelve years I've known you. I've grown from an utterly insecure, sometimes foolish, shy, average eighteen-year-old girl to a confident and physically appealing woman. I know what I know, and I am neither ashamed of my past nor of who I've become. I am a strong person. You, however, are my weakness. A destructive one at that.

Seeing _her_ in these weird poses has me thinking, though...

What is it that drove you into her arms, drove you to throw away our friendship and a possibly new start at a relationship that has the potential to be so good?

It's not a problem for me to admit that she's kinda cute – to be honest, gorgeous even. I don't have much information, but from what your mom told me, she is a nice woman, a good veterinarian, and has some serious baking, gardening, decorating and what-the-fuck-ever skills. She just seems so uptight to me... somehow.

As you know, I'm certainly not the domestic type. I'm not a slob, mind you, but I'm the type of girl to stay in bed with all weekend - leave the dishes for Mondays, watch Two and a Half Men and horror flicks like a marathon. I'm the type of girl to hang around with in just our underwear all weekend, drink booze and crack filthy jokes. The type of girl to drive with you in your car aimlessly through the night and sing along with the radio at the top of our lungs. I like chain smoking, burping contests, and watching porn. Hell, I even played your stupid, geeky PlayStation games with you – and enjoyed it! I'm the kind of girl that doesn't mind getting her hands dirty, the kind of girl that likes to be fucked hard on occasion and not wrapped up in silk all the damned time. Those whispered words of never-ending love? I want you to keep that to yourself... mostly. It makes me feel vulnerable. Just showing me that you love me would be enough. I'm not the romantic mushy type, though we kissed hello and goodbye on the lips – and sometimes in between when we were exceptionally happy. Which was quite often. But then, I'd like to be called your dirty little girl in bedroom, though. Sometimes.

That ship seems to have sailed.

But I make up for all my lacks by being fiercely loyal to you. I would cut a bitch for hurting you - even if you'd probably apologize on my behalf. There is not much I wouldn't do for you. Even now.

I also make everything better with my mad snark skills, Monsieur Douché.

The fact that I occasionally picture you as my future babies' daddy is new - even to me. That may come as a surprise to you – and heck, I surprised myself with this shit. For the last few years, I saw you more like a brother, so... ewww. Might be that I became a mushy, romantic type, after all. I'm not sure when that even happened... Some time in the middle of fucking each other's brains out in February?

Does she want children? Are you even willing to settle down at this point? With anyone for that matter?

What exactly were your intentions when you told me I should move in with you a few months ago - only to let _her_ move in a few weeks after you unceremoniously invited me to stay -permanently? Fucking someone else has you changing your opinions rather fast, don't they?

The thing that really drives me nuts is that no matter how contradictory your behavior is, no matter the mistakes you make, no matter how often you behave like a grade A bastard – everyone takes it with a smile. They kind of pat your back for it, leaving it at a simple "That's typical of him."

In typical me fashion, I want to go rogue on your ass for that.

The way we started our relationship is proof that we're both idiots. I never thought it would last the three years it did to begin with. Neither would I've imagined us becoming best friends after our breakup, even if the lines were blurry for a while. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine you not being in my life.

And now - poof - it is as if you've never existed.

Do you sometimes think of the night we met? How I hit on you in my drunken state? The way you declined at first? I just wanted to get over the fact that my boyfriend dumped me, but I never bargained for you. Or your force, your natural charm, and your overwhelming and intoxicating personality. Your heart that's the size of a whole continent won't be denied. Those puppy-dog eyes of yours were deathly for my girly bits and my icy heart.

When you came over the next day, you threw me for a loop. I didn't know why you were standing there at the other side of my door, but your presence wouldn't be ignored.

You came to apologize. Cue my comically confused face. Apologize for what exactly? My drunken ramblings? Me being touchy-feely? For the fact that I tried to jump you? I gave you the "are-you-crazy" look.

The look didn't help as you, a god-like creature, already seated yourself on my ratty couch and explained that you had a girlfriend, who was out of state for a year. How you were waiting for her to return. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I was a little drunk, all right, but I didn't suffer from Alzheimer's, you know? You pegged me drunker than I actually was. Figures, since you're the type of guy who can't hold his liquor. Not that it's something to be proud of.

This ex-girlfriend of yours is a blonde, too, by the way. Is this a secret trend of yours? Am I the anomaly? The exception to your golden rules?

Anyway, you told me how you would be with me if you didn't have a girlfriend.

That really won me over. I thought it was sweet how you rejected me in this very polite manner of yours. Now I wonder, if you were just as horny as any other teenage boy, trying to keep me interested, in case she dumped your ass when she returned.

Doesn't matter. We agreed to become friends and made plans to drive to a party together.

Being in this complicated mess now, makes that magical night we got together seem endlessly far away and tarnished.

That night – December 18th, 1999 – we drove to the aforementioned party. With your brother. The very same brother who stared at my boobs the whole ride and nearly drooled into my cleavage. The cleavage that was just for you. There was glitter involved... so yeah, can't blame him for peeking.

Always being calm and relaxed is probably one of your best characteristics; it was even back in the days. Is it safe to say, your brother hitting on me had you agitated that night? A little bit? I think it is, since the vein on your forehead puckered funnily. And I didn't think my cleavage was responsible for giving your vein a spasm … or was it? Hmm. Could have been that, too.

So when the vein kept puckering on and on and on, I thought that maybe you were indecisive. It seemed like you wanted me, but the good boy in you didn't dare to do something about it. Were you torn between dumping your girlfriend via text message right then and behaving like the good friend you promised you'd become to me? In the end, the vague idea of how your brother could end up fucking me sent you over the edge, didn't it?

No one could blame you for going after what you wanted. Well, except your ex-girlfriend. But the night was just too amazing. The disco ball threw sparkling lights across the room in every color imaginable. The E we rolled on helped this fairytale to unfold. High as a fucking kite – everything felt so much greater, so intense. The way the lights reflected in your gorgeous eyes had me melting into a puddle at your feet. The more the E took effect, the more I wanted to snuggle up in your arms and build a nest there, inhale your scent for all eternity to come.

Eventually – and I swear I don't know how – I ended up on your lap. Did you put me there? It's not like I went after taken guys as a hobby or intentionally. And when I sat there, so close to you, being embraced by your warmth, I could feel your heartbeat, so strong and much too fast. Just like mine. We ended up talking for hours, never leaving each other's side. The music that blared out through the speakers faded into the background, but the beat was perfectly in rhythm with our hearts. Nothing else mattered but you being there with me and our deep breaths, our synchronous shivers and the goose bumps on our skin. The talking faded slowly and led to innocent touches. Your hand on the small of my back. Soft fingers found their way under my shirt, just barely. Still it made the hairs on my neck stand on ends. My head on your shoulder felt perfect. Nothing in my body seemed to work properly. Just basic things like...

…deep, deep breaths.

Oh God, the shivering.

Pulse racing.

Heart throbbing.

Hands clammy and twitching.

The need to touch you.

The resistance?

Futile – when you looked so deeply into my eyes – eyes full of want and pleading. You didn't have to say a single thing out loud.

I knew.

The unspoken understanding, that you'd dump your girlfriend the next day.

And when your soft, soft lips came closer to mine... closer... barely touching...

… I had no reservations. None whatsoever.

No objection when you kissed me.

None whatsoever.

I stayed the night. In your bed.

And actually stayed there ever since.

Who would have thought...

… I am the personification of mushy.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

** My love to B, thx for encouraging me and kicking my ass when I needed it.  
><strong>

**mcc101180 is my beta and I heart her soo much.**

**Teh Lemonade Stand is the best invention since wine.**

**My readers: I heart you.  
><strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9/**

How are you doing, baby?

Good? Yeah? I'm so glad for you.

My day's been the epitome of cotton candy and rainbows.

On a carnival from Hell.

Today, I pulled out my first gray hair. Can you imagine? No, it wasn't gray; it was a single, stark white hair in the midst of the dark brown mop I call hair. I don't even have the right words to describe to you what a massive cluster-fuck my day was. For fuck's sake, I'm not even thirty, yet. And don't you dare to even think I'm old. My boobs still look fantastic. You used to tell me so. The last time you did was not that long ago – you know in February. There I go again and mention the day you've probably tried like hell to avoid a single thought about. Am I right? Why am I even asking? I know you have.

I bet _she_ wouldn't react too kindly if she found out what happened in your bed the night before she slept in it. There's no doubt in my mind that you didn't tell her about it.

Avoidance is a bitch, and I strongly hope it comes back to bite you in your not-so-fine ass. You know, as it has started to wrinkle and all. Yeah, baby, you're only six months younger than me. Things eventually begin to wilt -even a body as fine as yours. But I'm sure your little-pet-doctor-plaything has a cure for everything. Even for your lame ass.

Anyway, I named that fucking mutant hair after you; I call it Asshat for short.

The hair and your bacteria-infested bombshell weren't the only things on my shit-list today. No – you had to turn this fabulous day into an even more craptastic "Torture-Me-Why-Don't-You-Day" when you graciously decided that today would be a good day to call me.

Yay.

Thank you so much.

I really need a dislike button for your Facebook profile. I need something stronger than a dislike button; I need a "thanks for fucking my life over and now I hate you" button. You think I can get that made for me? I hope and pray so.

A baseball bat to your stupid head would surely suffice too.

You should've just stuck to texting. _Really_. For all the times I wished to hear your voice again, today I wanted you to just shut the fuck up. Period.

The pedestal I put you on? Yeah, you managed to wreck that all by yourself in just ten minutes of conversation. It started pleasant enough, but we can't have that lasting, can we?

Feel free to sigh in relief that you're living sixty miles away from me and that I don't own a car. It's the only thing that stopped me from surprising you with my fist. And a kick to your nuts.

Bummer.

After our little chat, do you really think I'm still going on that stupid vacation with you in two months? On a boat? A really small boat. The two of us in a poky cabin? With nowhere for me to hide except under the boat? I imagine myself drowning in the ocean from trying to hide from you. I saw the movie _Open Water_... I imagine it's not a nice way to go.

Back in January, the vacation was all I thought about. Our happy days where we decided to join your parents on a cruise in the Caribbean. I was giddy like a little girl in a Hello Kitty store.

Two weeks sailing through the Caribbean Sea, two weeks of sunshine and cocktails and you by my side. Life would've been perfect.

When you told me on the phone today that, you still want us to go on this vacation together... my jaw dislocated itself and fell right to the floor.

Try not to kid yourself there, buddy.

You can take your little vet to Old McDonald's Farm and ride on a stinking horse into the fucking sunset – or better yet, off a cliff – for all I care. I'm not going anywhere with you. Possibly ever.

But I didn't tell you this.

Neither did I say anything when you told me she moved in with you; I only tried desperately to hold back the tears.

She fucking moved in with you? For real? Are you kidding me with this? I knew she was often at your place, but you let her move in with you? Like permanently? You've known her for like two seconds! Your stupidity has really reached new heights.

Let me rephrase that: your stupidity reached new heights when you invited me to your house for next weekend! With her living there now. How are the sleeping arrangements supposed to work? You never thought about that, did you? Your silence on that issue spoke volumes.

_I_ am your guestroom girl now.

You want me to listen to the two of you getting it on directly above the guestroom? Never gonna happen. I declined. Very politely of course. Fuck you very much.

And what about the fact that you invited me over while she had business out of town and wouldn't even be there? Am I your dirty little secret on the side now?

You're such an asshole.

I know our friendship the last few years has been kind of strange. No sex – before February this year, mind you – kissing on the lips and cuddling while sleeping in the same bed. Always touching, bathing together, and seeing each other naked without awkwardness. Yeah... it's weird. I know. But we could read each other like open books. And now? Now you put all of this aside, leaving me standing in the rain. For what? Your new fuck buddy? I'm seriously questioning your mental state right now. And that's rich coming from me.

I was trying to be nice by asking you if you'd rather take her on this vacation instead of me.

"_God, no! I don't want to take her. I want you to go. I'd be so bummed if you __cancel. You know this. I miss you so much._"

I still recall the disgust in your voice while saying you don't want to take her. I know you want me there. Yet, you put me on hold regarding everything else. It's not the way things work, baby.

I wholeheartedly tell you to go fuck yourself. Quietly in my head.

God, I'm so done with you for today. I feel the need to drown myself under my shower head or think back hard to our night in February and analyze once again what went wrong.

It's a no-brainer – I choose to do the latter.

That cold winter night in February started normally, like uncountable other nights with you. We sat on your couch and enjoyed a glass of wine. Yeah, who am I kidding? We shared a bottle. Though we were nowhere close to being shitfaced, I can't remember how we ended up browsing the internet for toys. The not kid-friendly kind of toys. You laughed at my ass when I told you I don't own such things. Your laugh-attack was followed by a lengthy lecture on human nature, being open-minded, followed by you fetching your credit cards.

So there we sat on your couch, my face red as Hello Kitty's ribbon and your credit card nearly pulverized from overuse. Were we really purchasing toys for my lonely nights? If so, what the heck should I do with those handcuffs you ordered all by myself?

I don't know when you became so confident with your sexuality. It wasn't something we talked about on a regular basis. But hell, the wine helped me to finally confess that I don't get off on sweet and slow and oh-so-motherfucking gently. Never have.

While your face was priceless when I asked if we could order some anal beads, mine was fiery, my pulse racing really fast. You thought you knew everything, knew me so well, lectured me so well, but I guess Mr. Teacher didn't know what anal beads were... Well, I was glad to teach _you_ something.

I felt your ass clench on the couch.

Silly, they weren't for you.

I felt like corrupting your innocence all over again.

"_What are you talking about? You never corrupted me."_

Oh, I beg to differ. Remember when we were those awkward teenagers, twelve years ago – you with your hair all gelled perfectly into submission and me with too huge boobs for a too tiny body. The way we met for the first time. You dumped your first love for me in a matter of seconds. That party changed our lives.

I was this promiscuous little thing with a bad childhood and quite a few former lovers lining her past. You were that sheltered, nerdy stud. A coalition meant to go up in flames, to shine brighter than the sun.

The two of us making love for the first time? That's an image branded into my brain forever. I'll keep that moment in my heart until it won't beat anymore.

Teenage love is awkward. All those insecurities about appearance and performance.

You seemed a little shy, so I had no problem with taking the lead and had your glorious body underneath mine naked in record time. You were so, so nervous, jittery and seeing me naked for the first time, shaking while touching my boobs for the first time. With fingers so soft and gentle, like I was a figurine made of glass. Too scared to really touch me. Too amazed with my body. Eyes huge. Jaw slack. Your breathing irregular.

I didn't hold back with you, nor did I let you take your time. I practiced what I learned from former lovers on you. I thrived with every sharp intake of breath you made, when my lips went on an expedition way, way below your face. That moan of yours when my lips met your skin, that is simultaneously the hardest and softest, had me pumping my fist in victory, figuratively. There really is something I am good at.

And then …

… you hit my eye.

It was that fast.

Later wiping my eye in the bathroom, I started to wonder.

You told me you've had sex before. Not with your ex-girlfriend but someone you met randomly at a party. I didn't know you well enough back then, so I believed you. Hmm. Maybe it was just nerves. And maybe I was quite overwhelming for you... Especially with the way I felt confident in my nudity. Still, losing your virginity to a random girl didn't match up with your personality at all. Maybe you'd never had someone go down on you before. I can't even tell you why I didn't believe you exactly. To this day, I am still convinced you lied to me. But I wonder why? There's nothing to be ashamed of waiting for the right person to lose your virginity to. Not that it should've been me. God knows it shouldn't have been me.

So I pretended. Pretended that this wouldn't feel special and unique to me and took your virginity so shamelessly.

Fast.

Hard.

Dirty.

You were in awe.

I was crushed.

The eager beaver in you tried so hard to reciprocate.

The first time you put your tongue on me, I thought, "This is it. My first orgasm caused by someone else other than me. He'll have me screaming his name in a matter of seconds."

That second never came.

It wasn't for lack of trying. You tried so hard. With everything you've probably ever seen in porn. It didn't work with your magic tongue and certainly not with your generous dick.

It didn't work our first time, and it didn't work the many times that followed. It certainly didn't work when we relapsed in February. My confession of liking it rough, wanting you to hold me down, tie me to your bed and keep my thighs wide open for you... It all didn't change the fact that this is quite likely not your cup of tea.

The package with those non kid-friendly toys? The handcuffs, anal beads, lube and vibrators? Did they arrive yet? Did you send them back without even opening the package?

I don't really want to think about the possibilities. Did you keep all that stuff and hope we could try things out together? Someday? Or are you playing a little doctor with _her_? Inspired by my pervy brain? Are you living out _my_ fantasies with _her_?

The worst part is that I can't decide. Do I go on this stupid vacation with you? Or do I cancel that shit? Neither option looks appealing to me at the moment. Then again, maybe I should tie _you_ up in the poky cabin we're supposed to share and have my wicked way with you. This could end with you screaming from pleasure or screaming for help.

Decisions, decisions.

Head, let me introduce you to a very sturdy wall.

OW.

* * *

><p><strong>AN **

**My darling readers, I heart you all.**

**B, I adore you**

**Mel is my beta and my sunshine. I sent her this chapter yesterday evening and today morning it sat shiny and sparkly in my inbox.**

**She is awesome like that. Girl, make good on your promise of cocktails. **


	10. Chapter 10

_**I don't own Twilight.**_

_**I cleaned out the mess I left here last time. A hissy fit will do that to you.**_

_**Sorry for the double alert.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter10/**_

How was your birthday, baby?

I'm asking kind of late, huh?

Eleven days, fifteen hours, twenty-one minutes and fifty-nine seconds late...

Did you wait for my phone call? The one you'd usually receive on your birthday - not even a full second after midnight? Were you waiting to hear my voice first on your special day? Hell, I was the first person to wish you a happy birthday for the past twelve years. More often than not did I spend this day with you or the night before. I used to be your first person for everything.

I guess this year it was _her _voice you heard first. Maybe _her_ arms were around your neck, _her_ lips on those soft lips of yours... Were you out celebrating with _her _or did you spend the day in bed? Dear God, why do I keep torturing myself with those images? Why can't I stop the images of the two of you together? I'm wishing so much it was me you spent your special day with. Like it should have been.

I'm like the dying, old pet now. The pet you grew up with – a trusty friend and beloved companion – and now that the pet is old and probably smelly you don't want to play with it anymore.

Well, there's a simile that hits you in the face like a glass door you didn't see. Too funny _she_'s a vet and could easily put me down. She already did, metaphorically speaking. And it's actually not remotely funny at all. It's utterly sad – in the I-want-to-crawl-under-the-bed-and-die-a-slow-painful-death kind of way. I don't know what's worse; the anxiety of losing my best friend or the feeling that I'm not your number one girl anymore.

I couldn't stop thinking about you that day. You were on my mind constantly, and I was barely able to hold my tears at bay. My stupid phone mocked me; it called out to me to pick it up and call you. I couldn't. My brain told me to stay away from you, told me to protect myself from further heartache. It told me repeatedly that there is no _happy ever after _for us... But my heart – that stupid traitor – beat in overdrive the whole day. This constant battle between my heart and my head is pissing me the fuck off.

It'd be so easy to push a button and simply not love you anymore, not miss you with every fiber of my being. Images flooded my mind like a tsunami. Images of long-gone moments. The day we met, the day we became an item, our first kiss, our first time, the three years we lasted as a couple, the dozen times we went on various vacations together, or how I hung on every word you said – like the God I thought you were... Twelve years worth of our love and utterly cozy friendship flooded my brain. It was like someone broke open the Hoover Dam.

If you could see how miserable I am now, would you think back to the day when you were feeling this low? Would you link all my misery back to the day I broke your heart and ultimately mine?

You don't like to think back, do you?

You don't want to be reminded of your own weakness. That even you – the impeccable über-human – have your faults.

Though, I wouldn't call it a fault or a weakness. I'd just call it life. Shit happens. We have to go on.

I imagine you losing your usual calmness now, screaming at me:

"_Well, the shit that happened was you cheating on me!" _

Yes, I know. God, how could I ever forget? You wouldn't let me.

We broke up because you couldn't forgive me for the infidelity.

I fought for your friendship, yet you still wouldn't forgive me.

I groveled at your feet and begged, but you wouldn't forgive me.

With time we became best friends, and still you didn't have it in you to forgive me.

For nine years now, you remind me on a regular basis about another fuck-up in my life.

"_Do you regret cheating on me?"_ I hear your smug voice ask me.

Why yes, I do. Every day.

"_Do you think things would have ended up differently if you hadn't cheated on me?" _

The pain in your eyes kills me each and every time I picture your face as I see you say this. Go haunt me with your puppy-dog eyes, why don't you.

But no, not so much. We probably wouldn't have lasted that much longer anyway.

"_Was it something I did wrong?"_

I'm snorting. My brain really hallucinates now. You would never, never, ever ask if you did something wrong. That's just not your style - given the fact that you're always right. You don't make mistakes. Ever.

But no, it wasn't something you did wrong. You were the perfect gentleman. The nicest guy I've ever met. A heart as big as an ocean. You gave love and didn't take much for yourself in return. You explained the world to me, built me up. You had faith in me, always encouraged me. With you, I didn't have to be strong all the time; I was allowed to be weak and show my exhaustion.

I was happy. Utterly happy but terrified of losing you at any second. You were the best thing that ever happened in my life.

We were both twenty-one-years-old, living in my own apartment when you became suddenly sick. I figured it was depression. You refused to see a doctor, couldn't even bear to go home to your parents. Me? I had to switch back into fight-mode and be there for you 100 %.

Support you.

Take care of you.

Love you.

Just keep you sane!

I did.

For a whole year - 365 days - I was your shoulder to cry on, your mother, your nanny, your psychologist, but not so much your lover. Since you refused to go home to your parents, I took you in permanently -no questions asked. I washed your clothes, put you in the shower, cooked your meals, and drove you to classes.

"_Yeah, all the things a normal couple does."_

Funny... I felt like your roommate.

I don't blame you for this. Things like that happen without a reason. I don't fault you for becoming ill. I never did, certainly not back then. My heart went out for you. Utterly helpless -that's what you were- and I don't blame you for any of this, even you not being able to take my feelings into consideration. You simply had to focus on yourself to get better. It was okay with me.

Wanna know what really pisses me off, though? After all we've been through -our friendship we fought so hard to maintain- you let me down. Knowing full well that I, too, suffer from depression, you still let me down.

I hate you for this.

A little bit.

When I think about all that stuff -the stuff you refused to talk about - I can only conclude that you thought I cheated on you because you neglected me... Maybe it's a bit of guilt that keeps your mouth shut about this.

I never thought so. I don't know your opinion on that matter for sure. Though you thanked me - one time - for being there for you, you still didn't want to talk about it. I get it. I hurt you so much.

When you asked me for the reason I did this, I couldn't even give you one. Back then- when I was twenty-one years old - I didn't know what I know now. It wasn't like the sex with this guy was satisfying for me. Or any other guy for that matter and sadly that includes you, too.

It wasn't you getting sick, or me cheating on you, that pushed our relationship down the drain.

It was me. Right from the start.

So the million-dollar-question is:

Why did I cheat on you?

I'd give you a million dollars if you could answer that question for me.

You see, I'm an idiot and so are you. February forth surely proved our idiocy.

Were we meant to end up like this? I don't know. Maybe.

Was it purely the wine that had us suddenly kissing that night? I'm not sure.

Surely browsing a website for sex toys gets you a little horny, no?

Wanna know something funny – or tragic - depending on your point of view?

The softness of your lips against mine... felt right... somehow.

The velvet of your tongue on mine... felt even better.

The coarseness of your two hands cradling my face... was perfection.

But my brain told me that this was all wrong. You're my best friend for crying out loud.

I don't know who made the first move there on your damn couch. You? Me? Either way, the sudden impact of your lips on mine had me frozen. It was so foreign, yet so familiar. And all so wrong. The way you touched your lips to mine – so delicate, soft like a whisper - had my body tingling in a nanosecond.

The way you came back for my lips – harder this time - had the fire in my veins blazing. The way you stroked my hair had the air cracking with tension and every sane thought went out the window there and then. When you took me upstairs like a maniac - tearing at my clothes along the way - my mind was already spinning. You kissed me so hard while trying to maneuver us into your bed. By the time my knees hit the bed, you had me in only my panties. I clawed at your hair, yanked you down to my height to put my lips on every spot of your skin accessible to me. I kissed your throat, licked the stubble on your chin.

Your aggressiveness made me brazen, so I climbed onto the bed on all fours and waggled my ass, silently telling you to just slap it. One time.

_C'mon, you can do it. I want you to. So badly__._

The slap, however, landed on my face, figuratively, when you turned into teddy bear mode again. Once again treating me like a doll, when I wanted to be your dirty little girl so much. You know? Dirty girls get to be punished...

I thought I could teach you, the way I taught you everything else. Suffice to say the night ended in a disaster for me. Not only was I left utterly unsatisfied, but also terrified we had just ruined our friendship with this awkward fuck. The night was restless for me.

You snored away obliviously in your spent state.

But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd come back the next weekend to discover two coffee cups on your bedside table and a bra under your bed that certainly wasn't mine. I wanted to call you out on it so much, but well, you weren't my boyfriend so I kept my mouth shut.

I got my answer pretty soon as to whom this bra belonged. Your eyes were glued to your laptop screen the whole evening, and it drove me nuts! And when I looked over your shoulder to see what held your attention so much...

You were Skyping.. boring... computer nerdy talk with your brother. I was sure.

Then I did a double take, and my face lost all its color.

There - in that little chat window - was certainly not the picture of your chubby brother but _her_. In all her blonde, long-haired glory and icy blue eyes. From the looks of it, you must have chatted for days and days with her. And you being you had no problem with me reading all your conversations. Good times.

And God, what a scheming little bitch she was. She pulled out all the stops. Apparently you met her through an online dating agency. A project for your degree course, social science. You chatted for a few weeks and told me you liked her and wanted to stay in contact with her, maybe even become friends.

_She_? Not so much. From what I was reading, she was pleased to know you're rich as fuck and wanted to go all in. Steady relationship or nothing at all. When she called you an asshole via Skype and accused you of leading her on, I saw red. When she told you she wasn't in love with you, that you're not that special, and she has other admirers lining up for her, well, I told you she's a bitch. From her writing and spelling, I could tell that she was obviously very much drunk. Three sheets to the wind to be exact. Takes one to know one, you know? I'm an expert.

I went all Kanye West on your ass and shouted at you that she was a gold digger. Couldn't you see, you stupid, stupid man?

To tell you that, though, was a huge mistake. My bad, I didn't know she was your new soulmate already.

There was no cuddling for us that night.

And that, my dear friend, was the last time we saw each other. February eleventh. It's the end of July now.

In two weeks, we'll be seeing each other.

On a boat.


	11. Chapter 11

**_I don't own Twilight_**

**_And is giving me a headache  
><em>**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 11/**_

_**August 13**__**th**_

_**Bella**_

I'm on a boat.

That is, if you can call it that. It's a rusty, old tub that has surely seen better days, but I don't mind. I'm in the Caribbean. My yellow sundress is flowing nicely in the wind, and my hair smells like freedom and a little bit of long-lost teen spirit. The amount of time I spent in pain while waxing my whole body was totally worth it. My legs feel so smooth; I want to rub myself against them all the damn time. Plus, I scored a single cabin and am holding a mighty pink cocktail in my hand right now. Free refills and all. Life doesn't get any better than this.

Except...

The asshat is sitting right next to me on deck, sporting a grin that goes on forever. I detect a dreamy look in his eyes. I can even see a sparkle in there. Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes is a heavy feat.

"Way to rub it in my face, Cullen."

He cocks his head in my direction. The look on his face tells me he has no clue what I'm talking about. He's in love. Irrevocably so. Blech.

I'm giving him my "you-damn-well-know-what-I'm-talking-about" face. A bitch-brow might be involved, too.

"Swan, I'm not a mind reader. What did you just say?"

"Jesus, this is pathetic Emmett! I don't get it. Why would you want me to go on vacation with you, when all you seem to want right now is to be at _her_ side? I told you to take her instead of me."

Guilt and pain flashes for a second across his face, but he's quick to put on his smiley face again. He's reluctant to touch me, though.

"I missed my best friend. And _her_ name is Rosalie. You know this."

Yeah... I know. How could I not? I'm more familiar with her boobs –that she posted on Facebook – than I am with my own vagina. I refuse to call her by her name, though. Bitch stole my best friend. So I'd say we're not exactly on a first name basis.

Emmett nudges my hip and pulls me out of my inner musings.

"Yeah, I've missed you too." I think my mouth just twisted awkwardly while saying it.

This right here is as much of friendliness I can manage without having to vomit, so I excuse myself to get another refill. Only twenty minutes on board and I'm already on my second drink that will lead me to the glorious state of I-don't-give-a-fuck.

Way to go, Bella. Your liver will fail you in approximately one more drink. Too bad there's no internet to keep myself entertained here. There is this one tumblr profile... ah, never mind. He's too much of a player.

This "boat" isn't really huge. We're fourteen tourists plus staff. There are two cooks, a waiter, a guy whose task I haven't figured out yet, and our captain. A captain I haven't seen so far, by the way. What a nice way to make your passengers feel secure on this sinking ship, douche.

With my new friend in hand, a cocktail called Midnight Rose – yeah, keep rubbing it in my face – I make my way to the rear of Moby Dick's latest victim. The ocean looks spectacular. I need a little bit of quiet time before dinner. Before Emmett is his usual sunny self and makes me want to stab him with a fork.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, though. It's not Emmett, that's for sure. He's still mooning away for his bombshell out front. Did my left eye just twitch?

When I turn and look back, all I see is huge green eyes. Well, a bum with huge green eyes. He's not with us, that I know. His shirt is utterly rumpled, and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. A bed he fucked whatever bum-girlfriend he might have silly in. Is his head shaved only on one side? Jeez... Did he lose a bed or something?

For a second, I consider being my usual moody self and going back to Emmett and spoiling his fun, but... if I'm being totally honest here, no matter how cozy we were, he's never sported that kind of sparkle in his eyes for me. And I hate being honest – so I stick to watching the ocean in all its awesomeness.

And hey, why is that green-eyed bum still looking at me all fiercely?

Creep.


	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own Twilight.**

**And yes, a real update. The last one for this week and probably next week.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12/**

* * *

><p><strong>August 13<strong>**th**

**Bella**

Dinnertime.

I'm quite stuffed from all those fruits that decorated my cocktails, but I guess I can't avoid Emmett forever. We have to clear the air and talk about this mess. The spectacular ocean is only spectacular for a while before it gets boring.

I'm already late, but that still doesn't push my feet out of snail-mode. I dread this dinner so much. I'm used to the pitiful glances from Emmett's parents, Carlisle and Esme, but all of their friends don't have a single clue what's going on. I'll be poor, loser Bella in no time again.

I take a deep breath before I open the door to the dining room. It smells weird in here, and I'm not much of a fan of outlandish cuisine.

And just my luck... Typical. The only seat available is directly across from Emmett and next to...

huh...

the bum.

What is he doing sitting at the head of the table like he's God's gift to mankind?

Emmett smiles awkwardly at me when I plop myself down onto my chair. A waiter is at my side promptly and fills my plate with things I can't identify for the life of me. I push the food around with my fork and pretend that I'm eating while wishing for a bottle of wine to magically appear next to my glass of water. Face down, I concentrate hard on fading into the background and create an architectural masterpiece of this... meal... things to eat... whatever.

"Belly, you should eat something. I didn't see you eat all day."

Thank you, Emmett, for drawing attention to me and calling me by that ugly nickname you gave me years ago. I shrug and manage to smile at him in a very fake way. Right now, all I want is his brother to be here instead of him. That would spare me the patronizing looks from Emmett. Sure, Jasper is pretty depressed with his marriage going down the drain because of Alice exploiting his credit cards, but he'd be better company than this love-sick fool in front of me. The fool who still manages to monitor my calorie intake. Jasper wouldn't mind ditching this dinner to go drink our own weight in cocktails. What in God's name possessed me to go on this vacation? My own stupidity bites me in the ass all the time. Do I want to solve the problems with Em? Sure, I want to. But my pride holds me back and morphs me into this silent, fake-smiling, utterly sad copy of a woman.

Emmett inhales deeply and shakes his head a little. I know this is hard on him, too. I can tell by the way his puppy-dog eyes look so cluelessly at me. I know he doesn't have an easy solution for us, either.

The bum to my left watches our behavior with a curious expression on his face. What's his deal? Honestly, it's surprising that he doesn't smell like he looks. All I do smell is ocean and a hint of leather. His stern gaze gives me goosebumps, though. And I don't mean in a pleasant way. I think. Anyway, I don't like his presence very much. He's making me antsy.

When I feel a hand on my own, I look up to find Emmett pleading with me.

"Please, Bella. Eat something. You've had three cocktails on an empty stomach. Eat some vegetables at least."

Consider me already fed up.

"Cut the fatherly crap, Emmett. Mind your own business, will ya?"

Bitch-mode. I'm seething. It's what he does to me. He used to piss me off with his eating lectures every now and then, but right now, I can't take this shit. He should be feeding his vet back home. She looks like she could use his input on eating disorders. How can he be his usual sunny, caring self when we haven't talked about anything important? Hell, we haven't seen each other in over five months. I'm still waiting for an apology from him. Fucker, better come off his high horse soon. I'm so glad I never sent him my letters and therefor avoided another lecture about me needing to go and see a psychologist.

Something nudges my left knee. It's a hand. When I look up, there's green fierceness. The bum is staring at me. He looks intimidating with his brows drawn together, his eyes staring intently on mine.

"Eat up," he simply says to me, and wow... what a voice. All manly and deep. Do I feel a tingling in my belly? No, this can't be right. I don't know who he is, or who he thinks he is, but I'm not about to get obedient for this stranger here.

"You eat up, douche."

Yeah, Bella, really mature. You sure you're twenty-nine years old? Stomp your feet a little for emphasis, why don't you? See right here? This is a textbook-example of what alcohol does to your brain cells. But he doesn't need to know that. I will show him what an educated woman I am... I'm snorting into my glass.

"And who do you think you are, telling me what to do anyway?" I know he doesn't deserve my anger but he chose to interfere and that's what he gets. My nerves are shot to shit and I'm strung up.

There's a hand on my left arm suddenly. His hand again. Tight grip. I'm startled.

"I'm your captain. Edward Masen. Pleased to meet you. Now eat up, girl."

He means business; his momentarily tightening grip tells me so. I hate to be called a girl, and hell, he looks too young to be a captain and giving commands like that. But well, he's not exactly maneuvering the Allure of the Seas here, so...

Strange thing is, my fork finds its way into my mouth like I'm on autopilot. I chew but don't taste the food really. The hand that still grips my arm is very distracting. He radiates heat like I've never felt before. I want to scream at him to take his fucking hand off me, but something tells me he isn't a patient guy when dealing with little girls throwing a temper tantrum.

Emmett's eyes bug out of his head. There's nothing much for him to do other than stare funnily at me. He, too, will have to get used to the fact that I'm not his responsibility anymore. An emotion flashes lightning fast across his face. I can't tell what it was because it's already gone and replaced with a sickening wide smile.

The sudden urge to cry creeps upon me. I have to get out of here. There's no way I will lose my facade of a strong woman for all of them to see. First day on this fucking boat and I'm already a mess. On my way out of the dining room, I tell the waiter to bring a bottle of wine to my cabin. No glass needed.

Emmett can shove his stupid puppy-dog eyes and silly smiles up his ass. I won't have this conversation with him now. Not in the state I am in.

There are some deckchairs out front. It's the perfect place for me to calm down and flee reality. So with a delicious bottle of chilled wine and my favorite book in hand, I sit down. The sun is low on the horizon, the sky a cozy pink canvas.

If Emmett knew what I'm about to read, his face would turn as pink as the sky. He doesn't know that my library at home holds rows upon rows of smutty novels. Not the romantic, cheesy novels that portray an everlasting love so sweet you want to gag with every word you read. No, it's the dark ones that fill my shelves. The ones where love is so all-consuming it's sometimes hard to breathe. I crave those stories where the protagonist's love is fifteen shades of forbidden and has you panting in no time.

And with every slap that occurs in this particular book I'm reading, I'm breathing harder and harder each time. And with every time he calls her his good little girl, my heart beats faster. With every command he gives to his lover, in all his dominant glory, I feel a tingling that spreads through my whole body. There's a slightly uncomfortable situation going on in my panties, but I try to ignore it.

I take a sip from my bottle – that is half empty already. When did that happen? Ah well, I turn a page and dive right back into this story of a Dom and his very obedient pet. He has her arms tied behind her back, and she's kneeling on his bed, naked and waiting anxiously for his every command.

"You've had quite enough, don't you think?"

GAH!

Busted. There goes my book flying over the railing.

It's him.

The Captain or Edward, I guess. He seems to be my age so I refuse to call him Mr. Masen or Captain or something equally chauvinistic.

He's scowling at the bottle in my hand while I try to recover from this mini-heart-attack he just gave me. The way he towers over my sitting form has me a little excited, but come on, what the hell is his deal with going all stern on my ass? He's not my father and while he's handsome, very much so, I hardly know the guy to be following his commands, trying to please him. But being scolded by this stranger doesn't sit so well with me. The way he looks at me – as if he knows all my secrets – is unnerving. And the way my pulse is still racing is uncalled for.

I stand up, push the bottle into his – oh my, those are really big – hands and leave.

As I call out to him over my shoulder: "You owe me a new book, douche," my brain registers that I once again followed his demands. First at dinner, I ate everything that sat on my plate without complains and now... I stopped drinking. The bottle was half full for crying out loud.

I'm in deep, deep shit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**Again I apologize for my fail at failnet today.**

**Love you guys. **

**Bnjwl / Mel: all mine! Hands off. Kyla? you may look. ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13/**

* * *

><p><strong>August, 14<strong>**th**

**Early-ass morning. Or so.**

**Bella:**

Of three things I was absolutely certain.

First, I. Am. Dead. This horrible pounding in my head can't be normal for a living, breathing human being.

Second, something died in my mouth as well.

Third, I'm throbbing. Below the navel. When I clench my thighs together I can still feel the orgasm I surely had in my sleep. My memory is foggy, but I remember a huge bed, and a silk scarf tied around my wrists. The color green starred in my sleep activities an awful lot. The sweat on my skin is proof of an exhausting, yet _very_ satisfying erotic dream.

Ugh. This is just what I need. On top of this mess with Emmett, I sure don't need a new obsession.

There's a knock on my cabin door. If I'm really quiet, whoever-the-fuck it is out there will probably go away. The groan I just let out while I tried to move on my side is a dead give-away that I'm - in fact - not dead at all. Serves me right to feel like shit. I should've learned my lesson a long time ago to take it easy on all things containing alcohol. Even brandy beans.

"May I come in, Bella? You missed breakfast and I brought a plate for you."

Emmett. His voice is muffled through the door but cheery as usual. This kind of brightness is hard to stomach with a hangover from Hell. Though he knows I can't stand to eat first thing in the morning, he still cares for me. It tugs at my heart.

With a heavy sigh, I swing my legs off of the bed to open the damn door. I don't care that I certainly look like Freddy Krueger right now. Emmett has seen me even worse and he still manages to be my best friend. Kind of.

"Good morning, sunshine." He beams at me and shoves a tray of... something... in my face. It smells like ass bathed in coconut. Disgusting.

"Yeah, you too," is my muttered reply. I think I even slipped the word "asshole" somewhere into my less-then-enthusiastic greeting.

We sit side-by-side on my little bed; the food long forgotten. When Emmett takes my hand in his and tells me that he's sorry, I choke on air. He doesn't sound like he means it.

"What exactly are you sorry for, Em? For treating me like the slut I already think I am or for sleeping with me in the first place?" My face that is void of showing any humor has him swallowing hard.

"I guess we shouldn't have slept together." He's talking to his feet; in a very small voice.

"Can't argue with that one, Em. What bothers me the most, however, is not the fact that we did have sex. God knows, this could have happened sooner than that. I'm furious about how I had to find out about _her_. You just let me walk into your bedroom without so much as a warning that I might get foreign-bra-slapped in the face."

And this is the truth. For the last five months, I've had enough time on my hands to think about all that went down in February. I know Em and I are not destined to be together. We're not a good fit. As friends, hell yes. We're awesome at being friends, minus the touching of course. But as a lover, he lacks so much to satisfy my needs, and in turn I'm not what he wants in bed, either. Truth be told, we both lack romantic feelings for each other. But he treated me like a slut and that is weighing heavily on my heart.

"I didn't know her bra was still there!" Could you be any dumber right now, Emmett?

"Seriously? _Seriously?_ You don't get it, do you, asshole? Fuck off!" He looks taken aback by my outburst – like the kid that dropped his favorite toy in the toilet – and I shove him violently out of my cabin.

I take a shower and throw on the first things I can find in my messy baggage. Might me that my underwear is inside-out. It certainly feels weird while I walk on deck to clear my still hung over head. I look worse than Lindsay Lohan on a court day.

My mood is murderous. Even the bright, sunny day and spectacular-as-fuck ocean can't change anything about it. Neither can the fantastic view of a certain bum's amazing ass. He's leaning over the railing and smoking a cigarette as I walk by. Doesn't he need to work? Like steering the boat? I feel the urge to push him real hard and send him over the railing. Thanks for making me all kinds of horny in my sleep, bastard.

If there's steam coming out of my ears, no one seems to notice, but they sure keep a distance from me. Bitch-aura. Clears the way every time.

Today, we're going ashore. On some island. I don't remember the name, nor do I really care for it; my mind is too occupied with coming up with ideas on how to "lose" Emmett - purely by accident, of course. I'm not even sure I will go on this sightseeing trip, maybe I'll just stay in my cabin and read all day long.

As I ponder my options, standing at the railing and looking at the island that slowly comes into view, I feel a tingling at the back of my neck. What's with all the tingling crap since I set foot on this boat? There's warm, moist air at my ear and a … finger? On my naked, lower butt cheek? What the fuck? I don't even need to turn in his direction to know there will be green eyes staring back at me and a pair of full, red lips whispering near my ear.

"Not that I don't appreciate the view – I do so, very much – but your dress is stuck in your panties. Your very colorful undies, that is. You're flashing your butt to the old dudes. Fix it."

His voice makes me shiver something fierce, but his domineering attitude is starting to get on my nerves. I turn around and look him square in the eye.

"Yes, sir!"

What was meant to be a sarcastic remark turns out more of a whimper when I see his dilated eyes and flaring nostrils. And suddenly it's hard to breathe.

I yank the dress out of my panties – very colorful, indeed and inside-out – and run for cover in my cabin. I will definitely stay here and get some more sleep. Beautiful island, be damned.

~- mlty -~

When I wake up, it's dark outside.

Wow, I guess I needed to sleep really badly.

The last five months have been hard on my sleeping pattern. I feel utterly refreshed now – so much that I might just appreciate this vacation after all – but there's something poking me in the side. I bring my hand down to the offending object and come up holding a book in my hand. Not any kind of book, mind you. I'd recognize the gray tie on its cover with both eyes closed.

It's a message, and once again I dread dinner.

But this time for a whole new reason.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Thanks to all my readers. **

**Mel is my beta and a very fast one at that. I sent her this chapter yesterday and voilá, here it is.**

**I have a girl crush on Bnjwl, who never fails to provide me with _interesting_ pics.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own Twilight. **

**Last update this week. **

**I mean it this time. Gotta go out and try to appear as if I actually do have a life ;) **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14/**

* * *

><p><strong>August, 14<strong>**th**

**Dreaded dinner time. **

**Bella**

I practically sprint out of my cabin and toward the dining room. I stop shortly to check that my dress covers my whole ass this time, but I will _not_ be late again. Come what may, there's no way I'll be sitting next to the creepy captain, knowing he was in my cabin and scared the crap out of me with that book. Actually, I consider suing his ass for stalkerism.

The goal is clearly in front of me. All seats are available. Cue my inner victory dance. I'm off to sit in a chair as far away as possible from The Captain when there's suddenly an arm in my line of vision.

Ugh, Carlisle. Bad timing. Really.

"Hey, sweetie. Did my idiot of a son drive you to stay on board today? You really missed out on a beautiful island." He wraps his arm around my shoulder and draws me into a massive hug.

As much as I want to stay and chat with the closest thing to a daddy I've ever had – and I mean that in the most non-creepiest way possible – now's not the time to exchange pleasantries. I'm not into older – albeit hot – dudes. That was my mother's M.O.

I crane my neck around his arm to see the dining room already filling, and it's driving me nuts. I want to keep hugging this wonderful man, but I have the feeling if I do so, there will only be one place left for me to sit – under the stern gaze of _him_. This is unnerving.

"No, Carlisle. I was just tired. With the flight and all." I don't have it in me to be rude to him. I owe him so much. There's another arm – a smaller one – wrapping around me, too. Esme. We group-hug for a minute and Esme strokes my hair, before I'm left standing alone with a goofy smile on my face. I feel so loved... that is until I realize everyone, including my dream parents, are already seated. Leaving me yet again to sit next to The Captain. I sense that Evil is working its magic here. And I really should stop calling him The Captain in my head. He doesn't even wear a hat, like the captain from _Love Boat_. Not that this is a love boat here, not if I can't help it. He sure as fuck doesn't wear a captain's uniform, either. All he's sporting is a ratty, old t-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders and worn-out jeans. I should be glad he's not in a uniform. That would surely be the death of me.

Reluctantly, I make my way over to _Edward_ and sit down. There's a glass of juice sitting in front of me and I have the feeling Emmett is very concerned about my liver as well as my blood levels. He's such a good boy. Ugh. But it's The Captain who's smirking deviously at my irritated form. My hands are getting clammy. Gross. Emmett's face shows a similar smirk, and I wonder what's up with him. Has he been sexting the vet? I highly doubt we have reception here. Not that I checked – I don't even have my cell phone with me – and not that I really want to know, either. All the people who might call me are sitting at the table smiling at me strangely.

Have they been drinking on that island? Without me? Or did they smoke pot or something? They certainly look like it.

"Stop fidgeting."

I _really_ try to ignore his voice – a husky voice that does unspeakable things to the state of my panties – and look at Emmett for guidance here. No such luck. He's digging into his food with the eagerness of a starved child. Like he needs all those calories – that bear of a man.

I don't realize I've balled the table cloth in my fist until very skilled fingers pry the poor victim from my straining white knuckles, leaving a hot sensation on my shaking hand.

"No need to be nervous. I won't bite. That is, if you don't want me to."

Yeah, right. Never in my life have I rolled my eyes this hard.

"You sound like the douches from my romance novels. Don't strain your brain trying to come up with something unique, pal."

Even if my face feels hotter than the fiery Hell, I don't fall for those lines. It's all talk and when it comes down to it, all men are a whimpering mess of jelly in my hands. Gone is their air of confidence, cockiness and self-proclaimed skills as soon as they have me naked, leaving me unsatisfied each and every time. I highly doubt he's any different.

I suppress the urge to call him out on his sneaky visit to my cabin, since the smirk has left his face as he's scowling disapprovingly at me now.

"If that's what you want to call it – romance. I figured you're reading about things that are way out of your experience range, girl. Dirty things."

The look he's giving me sets my panties on fire. Every hair on my neck stands to end when he talks about dirty things. I can feel his sultry voice deep in my bones but refuse to give in to him. Even when every fiber of my body tells me to be a good girl for him, to please him, I try to stay strong. And God knows, resistance is a difficult task, more so when I'm utterly turned on and sober as well. Can't say that I like being sober very much. Where is a waiter when you need one?

There's a choking sound across from me. Emmett's face is as red as this thing on his plate. Lobster, maybe? He's coughing up pieces of his half-digested food and I kick him under the table.

He's dying to tell Captain Douche here, that I am most certainly not out of my depth when it comes to kinky sex, the little shit. Experienced or not. It's the fantasy that counts and the will – or more precisely the need – to fulfill it. He better choke into muteness on that poor animal because _Edward _doesn't need to know anything about my sexual preferences. Even if he already suspects it. And I would like to know what it was that clued him in on me, by the way. Can't be based alone on my choice of literature. The thought that he might know I wanted Emmett to do naughty things to me makes my face flame in embarrassment. Does one look me in the eye and see a sign there that I want to be fucked within an inch of my life? If so, I'm about to walk around with my sunglasses on all the time. Even at night. The whole situation is highly mortifying. Not only did I confide in my best friend about my intimate wishes, tried and failed at corrupting him, and he rejected me, but now this stranger seems to read me like an open book.

Maybe he's into that sort of thing, too, and two pervs attract each other like magnets? That still doesn't give him the right to overpower me with his unearthly dominance and annoying-as-fuck handsomeness, given the fact that we don't know each other at all. Hell, we didn't even have a proper conversation, yet. Not that I plan on talking much to him anyway.

Still, he draws me in with his whole enigmatic persona, though and I realize I might be fighting a losing battle.

My food is all but forgotten when I dash to the bar and order a cocktail. Fuck the soft drinks. I need something stronger. Stat. Anything is fine with me at this point. Just give me my damn drink so I can get the hell out of this room. The tension and implied promises are making me nauseated.

*- mlty -*

I feel utterly overwhelmed standing on the bow of this boat and pleading to the stars above to have mercy on me. I thought the cool air outside would also cool down my overheated mind, but I guess I was wrong. Typical. I feel even hotter, burning up in a fever pitch.

_Just take a sip of that delicious green cocktail, you're holding, Bella._

Wow, rambling to myself in third person is never a good sign. Neither is this whole vacation that seems to have the green theme going on.

The green won't be ignored, though. The desire I feel for that handsome man is so strong. And he's a man, all right. He used the day on the island wisely and got his hair cut, but neglected to shave his stubbly face. Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ is more sexy than a man sporting a five o'clock shadow. I would like him to run his stubbly face along my smooth legs and spend an eternity at the apex of them.

No! No, I don't. Seriously. This must be the sea sickness talking.

But underneath his rumpled clothes, I see the outline of what seems to be a very toned body. I bet it's drool-worthy. Just like the rest of him. Not that I'm drooling here or anything. The wetness on my chin is from the cocktail I'm slurping. But damn, if the glimpse I had of his jeans-clad ass earlier didn't make me want to purr in appreciation and maybe rub my face against it. For hours.

I feel him before I hear him.

It's very easy to tell.

His hand is on my ass.

It's accompanied by the strange feeling that it belongs there, but hey, what a sneaky fucker he is. I didn't hear him approach at all. I want to laugh at my own choice of words_ "sneaky fucker"_ but all noise dies in my throat when he breathes his next words into my ear.

"Be a good girl for me and stop with all the drinking." His deep, husky voice leaves no room for discussions.

With s light slap to my butt gone is the hand and its owner, but he left his unique scent of leather behind and a trembling, confused mess of a girl.

I feel guilty for wanting to run after him and demand things from him that would be embarrassing in the morning, when Emmett is so near and I'm still being a bitch to him, even though it's crystal clear that I don't want him anymore. Not like I want _him_. It's just not right.

The dampness between my thighs is ridiculous. I'm in for a long night. I don't know if I'm a sleep-talker, but just in case I'm a sleep-moaner, I pray the owners of the cabins next to mine are deaf.

This could get loud…

… and messy.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Love my readers, your reviews crack me up**

**Love my Bnjwl**

**Love my Mel.**

**Would love me some Captain, too.**


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't own Twilight.**

**And clearly, it's already next week in my spaz-tastic world.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15/**

* * *

><p><strong>August, fifteenth.<strong>

**Ass-crack of dawn.**

**Bella**

It's safe to say that last night didn't get loud and certainly wasn't messy. Well, not the kind of messy I would have liked.

The excitement soon left as I sat on my bed with trembling knees, close to a nervous breakdown. Guilt hit me in the forehead, totally out of the blue, and left me awake ever since.

This is all kinds of wrong. I feel panicky. I shouldn't want him, mustn't want him in fact. I try to think logically about it, but my brain isn't much help, since it communicates in riddles with me. I'm left helpless on what to do. I feel bad, utterly, utterly bad, for wanting The Captain. The reactions I have to his presence overwhelm me. Hell, his whole existence pretty much overwhelms me. Plus, there is still Emmett to think about. My best friend. The best friend, who's madly in love with a blonde bombshell that neuters animals for a living. Judging by Emmett's reaction to my proposal of purchasing anal beads a few months ago, he knows that something isn't right in my head. That definitely clued him in on my weirdness. And we still need to find a way to work our friendship out. I want to hug him so badly and breathe him in, but I'm not sure I am allowed to – now that he has a girlfriend.

The lesson I learned from that whole debacle? Keep your kinky thoughts to your-fucking-self and your fucking pants on. Period. Also, I would advise not to buy sex toys with your male best friend while knocking back a bottle of wine.

Sometimes I wonder if my shitty childhood is to blame for the way I am now. That it's why I feel so alien all of the time. Is the lack of a proper daddy the cause for me craving a stern man and an even severer hand? Did my mom fuck with my whole future by letting me do what I wanted when I was younger? It certainly didn't help to see Mommy Dearest whoring around, that's for sure. And where the hell is she anyway? I haven't seen her in over fifteen years. Meh, maybe it's better that way. Recognizing myself in her would be the final nail to my coffin of sanity.

Thinking of my past has me wincing and shaking my head at myself. At some point in my life, I couldn't make a man stick to me anymore, no matter what. Did I drive them away with my not-so-sunny self? I mean, it's not like I'm bitching all the time. I can be nice and funny. Most of the time, I just chose not to and prefer my solitude. I learned that most men don't like it very much when their "sweetheart" is wittier or more intelligent than they are. They also don't like strong, independent women. Outside of the bedroom, that is. Furthermore, I learned that I detest being called sweetheart.

I should really pull my head out of my ass now, seeing that it's time to get the day started. I'm not sure there's much I can do about my sullen mood, but I can certainly try to not look like I haven't slept in years and avoided mirrors at all costs.

We're casting anchor on the Virgin Islands today. Well, it won't be so virgin anymore once I set foot on land, but I need a little civilization. WiFi would be cool, since I really need to check in on some fanfiction. Another one of my obsessions... Let's not get started on that one, m'kay?

After a much needed lukewarm shower, I feel… human. Somewhat.

**- mlty -**

It's nice. Here on the beach. I'm lying next to Emmett on a towel and enjoying that my over-thinking brain has finally gone into standby-mode.

I put my cutest and simultaneously most revealing bikini on today and waggled my ass in Emmett's face more times than I care to count. It started at breakfast and I don't really know what I tried to accomplish with that shit. Do I want to make him want me? Nah, but I sure want to rub it in his face what he passed up. It seems my liquid diet keeps me quite to. Yay, me. But really, I don't know what I'm doing anymore, and I don't think it's working, anyway. The only reaction I got came from a certain captain in the form of admonishing looks. Every few seconds. I wanted to give him the one-finger-greeting, repeatedly, but didn't dare to do so.

I'm so glad he isn't here right now. I try to avoid him at all costs. Obviously, he is no good for my mental stability. Or what's left of it.

"Do you enjoy your book?" Thankfully Emmett pulls me out of my musings that never lead to a solution anyhow.

I stare funnily at him. I don't have a clue what he's talking about, since I'm not reading at the moment. Is this his way of making small talk?

"The weird book about gray ties," he clarifies.

"What the hell are you talking about, Em?" No wonder he's a long-time student; he's not making any sense here.

"Jesus, Swan. You're slow this morning. Did you take the short bus here, or what? The book, the one I put on your bed yesterday?" He's laughing at me. I suddenly fail to see any humor in this.

"That was you? What... how... huh?" Clearly I'm very clever today myself. Exceptionally so.

"Edward asked me to give it to you." I choke on my own spit. Emmett surely didn't mean to make this sound … dirty. Or did he? Jesus, it seems my mind has found its home in the gutter.

"_Edward_? You're on a first name basis with this dude?"

When the hell did that happen? I'm astounded, where Em only shrugs as if to tell me it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah, he's pretty cool. We had some beers together last night. Asked a lot of questions about you, though. Seems you have an admirer, Swan. You should go for it."

I don't like where this is going. Not one bit.

I contort my face in mock horror and ask him: "Hey, are your parents getting it on behind us?"

Successfully distracted. I sprint toward the ocean and dive right in. This is so not a topic I want to discuss with Emmett, and I'm not sure of how I feel about him shipping me off into another man's arms this soon.

**- mlty-**

After a long day of utterly relaxing laziness, we went to town for dinner and some sightseeing afterwards. Well, I ditched the group and the sightseeing and went off on my own, against Emmett's warning about crime-rates. He told me I'm reckless. Yeah, what else is new?

I found a nice little bar and am currently sipping away on my third Corona. I love me some beer. There's music playing and I like it. So much that I even sway a little to the beat. Or maybe that's just me being tipsy. People watching is a favorite pastime of mine, but when some dudes try to engage me in a conversation or more likely try to pick me up, I start to get nervous. Not a good idea to wander off alone, huh, Swan? Why am I thinking with Emmett's voice right now?

When I feel that damn tingling sensation on my neck, I know it's time to get the fuck out of here. There's no need for me to turn around to know that he's here. I feel him on every inch of my skin.

I stumble back to the boat and run straight to my cabin and into bed.

**- mlty -**

For the life of me, I cannot sleep.

It's hot as fuck in here, and the dress I'm still wearing sticks annoyingly to my body, which is soaked in sweat. Not really thinking about it, I get up and go on deck. I don't know what possesses me to do it, but the ocean at night looks so inviting. Even in my half-drunken state, I realize this might not be a good idea. Especially with everyone already sleeping. But the urge to swim is strong. The moon shines so brightly in the sky and bathes the sea in a silver light that simply draws me in.

Hmm. To skinny-dip or not to skinny-dip? I decide to leave my underwear on, but yank my dress over my head and climb down the ladder into this cool piece of liquid heaven.

Oooh, this is nice. So refreshing.

I'm a little anxious about all those creatures living in the sea, but they're pretty soon forgotten when I swim around and cool down my overheated skin. I could stay here for...

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?"

Uh oh.

Crap.

He's not amused. There's a loud splash and seconds later two strong arms wrap around my waist to yank me back toward the ladder. He's panting. From exhaustion or anger, I don't have a clue. The way he drags me on deck indicates the latter. He looks at me like a mad man, and suddenly there's only ass for me to see. His ass – since he's thrown me over his shoulders and stomps below deck. He's fully dressed and leaving wet footprints all over the floor. His wet pants cling nicely to his firm ass. Yeah, I might have copped a feel. He, too, since his hand on my butt is holding me firmly in place. Then we're in a room and I'm back on my own two feet. If I had to guess, I'd say we're in his cabin. The bed is utterly rumpled, dozens of books are scattered all over the floor and it smells like man in here. Not disgustingly, though. More like hypnotizing.

Geez, what now? Why did he bring me here? I'm about to open my mouth to bitch at him, when his icy glare focuses in on me. That shut's me up right away and leaves my knees weak.

He walks to his bed and tells me over his shoulder:

"I don't wanna hear a single peep from you. Now come here."

Umm … what?

When he sits down and pats the space next to him impatiently, my brain finally kicks in and screams at me to run, to leave right now and never look back. Funny how I always seem to do the opposite from what my brain tells me. I'm sure I look like a drowned rat – and so does he, but he wears it well. My drenched underwear is dripping onto his carpet and I shiver wildly, but not from being cold. My face is turned down now, and I am hesitant on what to do. When I chance a look up to his disgruntled face, I know there's no turning back and I move slowly in front of him. My bitchy-self has fled the boat and left a mute fool in her place. My face feels hot and probably shows the severe level of my shame.

With a strong tug on my hand, he has me sitting next to him on the bed, breathing embarrassingly hard, but highly aware of his body so close to mine. For a long moment, he just sits there, panting and looking me square in the eye. Shaking his head, he gets up and walks into what I can only assume is his bathroom.

Jeez, way to delay the whole thing. Get it over with already. Does he need to fetch a leather belt first? Wouldn't his hand suffice? My butt cheeks clench automatically. Even when I fantasized about this so often, I don't think I'm ready for it. Yet. Not like this.

When a towel hits my face, I'm confused.

What am I supposed to do with...

oh... _Oh!_

Right, he wants me to dry off. I feel so stupid now. The world's greatest idiot, is what I am.

I don't know what I thought he'd do, but I'm disappointed and… ashamed that I'm actually disappointed that he acted somewhat like a gentleman.

With the task of drying off finished, I stand up and make my way over to the door. Better to get out of here with at least a little bit of dignity – but I soon find my back pressed against the door. Two arms create a cage around me and two hands find their place on each side of my head, holding me hostage. His green eyes are in front of my face; they seem even greener this close. That could be because he seems to be angrier than the Hulk at the moment, barely restraining himself. When he leans in, I stop breathing altogether. His lips at my ear send shivers down my spine, but I still I don't dare to breathe. And clearly, I don't want his lips at my _ear_ right now. My hardened nipples can attest to that.

"If I ever catch you doing something as equally stupid as that again, you're _really_ in for it."

Despite the fact that his husky voice just threatened me, I think I just came a little. The throbbing between my thighs is intense, as is the trembling that gripped my whole body.

He sends me on my not-so-merry way to my own cabin with one last heated look.

Now I know, that I'll be definitely in for it.

Unavoidably so.

Have you met me?

Stupid is apparently my middle name.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**The usual suspects: Bnjwl / Mel, you are my my own brand of heroin. SM, please don't sue me for using that over-used phrase of yours.**

**My readers / reviewers: Actually I'm amazed you didn't flounce yet. I know I would have after a chapter 10 ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16/**

* * *

><p><strong>August, sixteenth<strong>

**Bella**

The walk back to my cabin is blurry. His heated look remains wrapped around my body like a blanket and is all that matters in this world right now. I don't feel my legs moving; the world around me is muffled. Only my own breathing echoes too loudly in my ears. There's fire in my veins, heating my skin, melting it. With trembling fingers, I turn the doorknob and enter my small cabin. The click of the door when it closes pulls me back into reality for a too short second before I lean my back against the door, needing its support dearly now. I try to get my irregular breathing under control. I breathe in slowly, breathe out even slower, and repeat. In and out, repeat. My chest heaves with every breath I take, and I notice my nipples strain against the flimsy fabric of my still wet bra. Sliding my hands over them is not a conscious decision; it's a need from deep within me. The motion causes my skin to break out in goosebumps and forces my mouth to let out a quiet hiss. My knees are made of jelly suddenly, shaking hard while trying to hold me upright in vain. I slide down until my butt hits the floor.

I fight hard to keep the images of his drenched form out of my mind, but his presence all over my skin can't be ignored. The sight of him all angry, his body tense, has my breathing speed up again. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, kiss his full red lips that look so inviting. Would his stubble irritate my skin or is it soft? Is he a skilled kisser, taking his sweet time with little pecks first, building the kiss up constantly, denying me his tongue only to let it escalate into a frenzy at last? I wish he would have taken off his shirt so I could have touched his chest, see if he's as fit as I imagine him to be. Is his skin smooth or does he have a little bit of hair on his chest? Or maybe a soft trail of hair below the navel? What would it be like to touch him _there_? Would my touch make his stomach twitch, and his heart rate pick up?

With my own hands gliding over my breasts, I imagine him here with me, on his knees between my outstretched legs. One of his hands is braced against the door while the other one first strokes my hair, then my cheek until it travels slowly over my collarbone to my shoulder, moving my bra-strap down my arm to touch my now bare breast until I _finally _ feel a single finger gliding over one hard nipple, making it pucker even more. I imagine him sitting back on his calves now, running his fingertips over my breast gently while looking at me leaning all flustered against this door. When his hand glides lower, down my ribcage and then my belly, I'm a trembling, panting mess for him. He runs his finger along the waistband of my panties, over and over again, teasing me until all that's left for me to do is beg him. He hears my whispered pleading but doesn't give me what I need. No, he runs his hand so softly over my panties and down – down to where he feels my desire pool for him. He doesn't apply pressure; no, he teases me with a single finger I can barely feel - up and down, up and down. So slow. Too slow. Too soft. I long for him to really touch me, kiss me, take me, but I don't dare to move one tiny inch. And he doesn't give my body what it needs – only leans forward and touches the tip of his tongue briefly to my ear, breathing hard into it as he whispers:

"_You're my good little girl, aren't you?"_

With that, I am gone. My thighs twitch and a burning heat spreads through my body like a wildfire. A low long moan erupts from within me. I shudder uncontrollably and barely manage to keep a scream at bay.

I float on air until I realize where I am and what I just did. I pull my hand out of my panties and get up on shaky legs. I am ashamed. The relief I just felt is short-lived. I can only hope I didn't scream _"Captain, oh Captain"_ when I came.

**- mlty –**

It's a black day for me of that I'm certain.

I realize as soon as I blink one eye open that today is gonna suck ass. This dark mood I get some days is here, and I know it will cling to me throughout the whole day, no matter if I get to see a unicorn striped in rainbow colors today.

As I lay here in my bed, I feel incredibly lost. Not only am I ashamed of my actions last night, and thoroughly confused about my sudden obsession with all things nautical, but I also miss Emmett. Very much. I miss our frequent hugs that used to always calm me down instantly. His easy-going nature is all I want right now. Hit me up with his eating lectures. I don't care right now.

When I feel my chin tremble and my eyes starting to water, I know it's time to pull the covers over my head. My heart feels like it's wrapped up in lead-chains and I hear a heart-wrenching sob. Yep, that's me.

Time doesn't matter as I wallow in self-pity. The pillow beneath my face is already soaked with my tears when I feel the bed dip. Covers are drawn back from my face and I'm enveloped in two strong arms immediately. My head is on his chest, his legs wrapped around mine. After five months of absence, it still amazes me how Emmett seems to just know when I need him. He strokes my hair, making me feel secure here in his embrace. Only he can do that to me.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Em." My voice is weak when I declare defeat.

"I know, baby. It's so tough. But we'll get through this. I never meant to hurt you, sweetie. I'm so sorry." This time he sounds sincere and I believe him.

"I'm not so sure we can go back to how we were. With time, things will probably get better, but do you think it will ever be the same again?" I wanted to ask him this question since the morning I woke up naked next to him. Back in February.

It takes him a moment to answer, as he searches for the right words.

"Maybe we shouldn't go back to how things were, babe. I mean... you know I love you – so much... but our friendship was pretty intense. Maybe we should dial back on all the touching and sharing a bed. Especially with Rose living with me now. She's cool, but I don't think she'd like you to sleep in the middle."

I ignore his attempt at bringing humor into this conversation. I don't make fun of things that are so dear to my heart. But I get what he's trying to tell me.

"You think, you can still manage to be my best friend, though? With all the midnight phone calls and random attacks of my craziness? I can't lose you, Em."

"Of course, I'll still be your best friend. Come on, Swan. It's not the end of the world. I'm not dying or anything. But seriously, I think it's better to dial back on all the intenseness. We both neglected to give other people a chance to get to know us."

Hmm. I'm not sure I understand what he means. We have lots of friends. Whenever I am out, I get to know new people, too. When he looks down at my confused face, he explains.

"Bella, we both didn't have a significant other in so many years. We were way too wrapped up in our own bubble. I don't think the whole thing was very... healthy. I admit that I was scared to ever find a girl as awesome as you. No one could hold a candle to you for so long."

At my sudden very un-lady-like snort, he gets a little irritated.

"Come on, Isabella." When my full name comes into play, I know he's angry. "You are a wonderful person. I told you this over and over and over again. You're smart, witty and don't forget that rocking body of yours. You're beautiful." I'm glad he neglected to mention the few screws I have loose, although he knows I know that he knows.

"I love you, Swan. But, believe me, we work better as friends. I can't give your kinky ass what it needs, and you have to give someone else the chance to be good to you, to be what you _need_."

Unbelievable! Fucker just made me smile through my tears.

When Emmett is gone, I take my sweet time getting ready. No matter what I do in the makeup department, you can still tell that I was crying. And when I think about seeing The Captain at breakfast, a telltale blush shows on my cheeks. I tell my perverted self to suck it up. There's no way he can tell by looking at me that I masturbated while fantasizing about him. Or can he?

I make it to the dining room just in time to see The Captain put something on my plate. And yeah, I've somehow come to terms with the fact that my place is obviously by his side. Something is off, though. He looks tired and disheveled—well, more so than usual. His face is glum and he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly as he takes his seat.

He looks around the dining room and when his eyes land on my face, a tiny smile forms on his lips. My own mouth twitches, but embarrassment wins, and as soon as I reach my seat, I sit with my face turned down. And then I see what The Captain put on my plate. I know a striped unicorn can't lift my mood, but a pink cupcake does the trick.

It's a sweet gesture, but the smirk on his face is anything but. His smoldering eyes tell me he might know what I've been up to last night. But there's no time to dwell on that when I see that Emmett is sweating in his seat, looking utterly uncomfortable.

"What's up, Em? Do you need to go potty?" I try to lighten the mood, but based on the guilty look on his face, I know that I should have stayed in bed for sure.

"I tried to tell you this morning, Belly, but... with you already in tears... I couldn't tell you. I don't know... how to tell you this..." He's a stuttering fool and this is so not typical for him, so I know I'm in deep shit.

I'm already fuming because I think I know what's coming. Esme's guilty face across the table only confirms my theory. The tablecloth once again is held very tightly in my fists. The Captain's hand on my knee doesn't do a single thing to lessen my fear or the rage that threatens to overtake my body like I'm a woman possessed.

"We're picking up Rosalie later... On the island when we dock... I'm sorry, Bella. I should have told you sooner."

I'm standing. So is Emmett. The silence is deafening. All eyes are on us and I don't think I can get away with murder now. Maybe tonight I can smother his snoring, backstabbing ass. I can't see much through my teary eyes as I try to make my way out of the room, as far away as possible from Emmett. I think Emmett tries to go after me – the Captain's words wouldn't make much sense otherwise.

"Stay put. I've got her."

And that he does. He clutches me tightly to his side when he steers us up toward deck.

"I'm not ready to meet her." I sob into his shirt, holding on tightly to it. With his two strong arms wrapped around my trembling body, he leans his head into my hair and whispers into my ear:

"I know, but you'll be fine. I promise." I don't think he knows what went down between Em and me, but his words manage to soothe me a tiny bit. But then I think back to yesterday, when Em told me the two of them had a few beers together, and I wonder if Edward knows more than I actually want him to.

But here in this awkward embrace, when I don't know where to put my hands on him, I think that maybe, just maybe, I can handle to meet the vet. Even if it is to bitch-slap the shit out of her.

When the Captain places a kiss into my hair, I'm thinking, _"Yeah, __i can definitely do this__."_

I wouldn't mind – much – staying in his arms a little longer.

That is, until he slaps my ass and tells me to go and get my purse.

Caveman wants us to spend the day together.

Uh oh.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**lame phrase ahead:**

**I have the bestest readers in the whole wide world.**

**Bnjwl / Mel: I have a girl crush on both of you and sincerely hope that one day polygamy won't be an issue anymore.  
><strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17****/**

* * *

><p><strong>August<strong>** sixteenth**

**Sometime ****in the afternoon**

**Bella**

We're walking.

Side by side.

The Captain and I.

We docked mainland a couple of minutes ago and started walking. I have absolutely no idea where we're going or even why. I clutch my purse tightly in both hands and keep a respectable – if not slightly exaggerated and spastic looking – distance from him. Counting passing cars seems very important to me right now. I'm so nervous. My body is on high alert, but it seems I left my brain back on the ship. This is awkward as fuck. Never mind that I pleasured myself while thinking of Edward, but now I don't have the slightest idea how to make small talk to this guy. I'm one step away from either attacking his pants in a secluded alley as a distraction or clubbing him over the head with my purse and screaming bloody murder.

It's probably too soon to tackle a bottle of tequila. Bummer. But come to think of it, that's actually a fucking brilliant idea. Body shots with The Captain, slice of lime in his mouth and –poof– no talk necessary.

"Are you in love with him?"

Catch me off guard, why don't you, Edward? He's obviously not a fan of small talk; he gets to the nitty-gritty immediately. I've tried so hard not to think of Emmett and the fact that he is picking up Wonder Vet from the airport as we speak... or walk... whatever. To say I want to strangle Emmett with my bare hands is putting it mildly. In fact, I picture a bloody, archaic punishment in a torture chamber somewhere in Transylvania. He's a gruesome asshole for doing this to me. Whatever it was that Emmett fucked up in the past, like standing me up countless times or making me hold his hand while he puked his guts out – and yes, that was not a rare incident – I always forgave him. No hard feelings. That he treated me like a whore after our romp in February is harder to digest, but I was willing to budge an inch. But this? Bringing his girlfriend here to flaunt their love in my face, to show me what a pathetic loser I am and to literally force me to meet her, is the meanest thing he's ever done to me. Given that I already told him a few times that I don't want to meet her. Yet. Again, I was willing to compromise on that. Give me a little more time to get used to the idea of having to let him go. While he's not the love of my life, he is, however, my whole world – all I know. For Christ's sake, I pictured having his babies in the future. Desperate much? Perhaps. But he can't expect me to wrap up our past twelve years in a matter of what feels like seconds and wave goodbye to our routine with a silly smile on my face. It was – for the past five months- and will always be very lonely without him.

"Bella? Are you in love with Emmett?" Edward's green eyes twinkle – I want to slap myself for even thinking the word twinkle – and under the bright sun, they look even more intense than usual. He's a very attractive man. Scratch that, he's fucking beautiful, especially with the light tan he's rocking and his crazy bed-hair. The cute dress I'm sporting? I'm not so sure I put that on only to show the vet that yes, I'm not as tall or perfect as she is, but I am the cutest yet sexiest, little thing to ever rock a dress with hearts and anchors on it while turning thirty years old in a few months.

"Isabella!" Good God, he's impatient.

"Uh. Am I in love with... ? I don't know... yeah. Maybe. No! Ugh. I'm not in love with him, but I love him... It's complicated."

What's also complicated is the task of forming coherent words that don't make me look like a total fool here.

"Well..." he begins as he drapes his arms around my shoulders and holds me to his side. "I think you wouldn't know what love is, if it bit you in your cute ass."

How _dare_ he?

And why, oh why, does it feel like home here under his arm? Hell, I hardly know this guy. But I know he makes me strangle my purse a little less. Did he say cute ass? Yeah, I so own this dress.

"Okay then... Let's do something fun, B." Why yes, let's.

"If it involves a bath tub full of wine, I'm game." A girl can dream, right?

"Not the wine, no, but I could come up with something fun in a bath tub." He winks at me. Gorgeous fucker. Crude, but still gorgeous.

"If you mean your... dick, then I'm not interested. At all." It feels weird to talk about his dick. My cheeks feel warm and I can't meet his eyes. I'd rather not acknowledge he has genitalia. They were on my mind enough as it is – with my hands down my panties.

His only response is to lift one eyebrow, a devilish glint in his eyes. The single brow treatment definitely means I screamed his name last night in my self-induced ecstasy. Great. Not mortifying whatsoever. His devilish glint looks quite lusty now.

* – mlty – *

Eating – or rather licking – an ice cream cone was not the smartest idea to get my mind out of the gutter. Each time his pink tongue darts out to lick that fucking thing, chocolate by the way, I sound like a dog in heat. Panting is all I'm doing these days. He's having a hard time as well keeping his eyes away from my mouth. This scene right here could be the perfect intro to a very cheap, but very hard-core porn movie. I expect myself to jump up and tear his clothes at any moment.

"Soooo, _Edward_... Tell me something about yourself." My voice sounds too breathy, seductive even.

"What would you like to know? Ask away." Just like that? He's the king of disgruntled instructions, and he gives me the green light to interrogate him? I'm so not passing that up.

"Age?"

"34."

"Are you married?"

"I wouldn't be here with you if that was the case, Bella. Stupid question. Next." Yes, sir. God he's hot when he's annoyed. Which annoys me in turn.

"Have you been married before, as in, are you divorced?" Geez, I do sound dense.

"No, Bella. And to answer what will surely be your next question: no kids." I want to stick my tongue out at him... Or perhaps stick it down his throat.

"Okay, let's see. I know you're a captain. If that is even a proper profession, since I don't see you steer that boat much. Or at all, for that matter."

"First, it is a sailing ship. Not a boat. Second, I am on vacation here, too. I own the ship, so it still makes me your captain. When I'm in the mood to steer, it's mostly at night." Innuendo, much?

Interesting info right here. The Captain, who never works and actually looks more like a bum, owns the rusty tub. I'm scared to ask what his real occupation is, when he's not sailing the world.

"So where do you live?"

"Seattle." Uh oh. That's pretty close to Forks. Too close for my liking. The way he stares at me with a smug smile lets me know that Emmett – the old chatter-box – has most likely told him my whole life story – including my social security number. Give that guy two beers and he spills all my secrets. I just hope he failed to mention the anal beads.

"Moving on. Favorite food?"

"Italian."

"Favorite TV show?"

"I don't watch that much TV." Fine with me. I'm just glad he didn't say _Dexter_.

"Ben & Jerry's or Häagen Dazs?"

"The latter."

"White wine or red wine?"

"Red." Boo!

"Corona or Heineken?"

"Corona."

"Ever visited a BDSM club?"

Why the fuck did I just ask that? Must face-palm myself immediately.

"Next."

* – mlty – *

We're on the beach, watching the sunset. Sitting in the sand, we're sipping away at the beer he's bought. A six pack. Corona, naturally. I'm on my third. Damn small bottles. He's sitting pretty close to me. His thighs are touching mine. His shoulder bumps occasionally into me. The alcohol is definitely not the only thing making me dizzy.

We didn't speak of my inappropriate question again. His heated gaze told me to drop the subject, and ever since, it's been interrogate-Bella time. And man, do I gibber. Must be the beer talking, otherwise I wouldn't share all my innermost thoughts with The Captain here.

"I don't wanna go back to the boat. Can't we just stay here? Like forever?" Clearly, I'm not above begging and sounding like a whiny toddler.

But Edward has other ideas and pulls me to my feet. Tucked safely under his arm, he guides me back to the boat – pardon, ship – and tells me it's time for dinner. It's just another word for doom in my book.

* – mlty – *

It hurts. A slap in the face is what this is.

God, she's beautiful. Standing on deck in her posh clothes... I hate her.

She's freaking tall... I hate her.

Her blonde hair and blue eyes are to die for... I hate her.

Her huge boobs are right in my face... I hope they smother her when she sleeps on her back.

She is smiling at me, all nice. I grit my teeth. She tells me how she is _soooo_ excited to finally meet me. She's heard so much about me. Yeah, right. I bet my ass, she didn't hear about how Em and I sexed each other up in February.

And God, even her voice is angelic.

Must refrain from pulling her hair and punching her in the vocal chords.

And my God does she babble like a first grader on uppers. Huh... Hold on... My Spidey Senses detect a flaw. A massive one. Suddenly I don't hate her so much anymore. Suddenly I want to express my sympathy to Emmett.

She. Is. Dumb. As. A. Fucking. Rock.

Ha! Have fun with that, Emmett. I think I squeaked when I shook her hand. Yes, I'm suddenly _that_ delighted to meet her.

I'll read some Shakespeare and talk nerdy to myself later tonight while feeling all better about being me. Seriously, I get that the vet's body is smoking hot, but the severeness of her density should give a guy a boner shock until eternity.

* – mlty – *

It's dinner time. I call it snort-fest 2010.

I'm celebrating, just so we're clear.

I can't keep the snorts at bay for all it's worth.

That earned me some serious bruises on my thigh, since The Captain is pinching it repeatedly to keep me in check. It's fruitless. I'm seconds away from laughing my ass off right in Emmett's face. I want to point a finger at him 24/7 and really lose it. He threw our friendship away for a Barbie. There's no brain inside her head, only silicone.

"Hey, Em, what do you see when you look into a blonde's eyes? … Huh? … The back of her head!" I'm hyper. Just when I'm about to tell another one, I'm yanked off my chair and dragged away to... Edward's cabin.

What?

Why?

The Captain does not share my sense of humor it seems.

"You're a brat, you know that? It's time to shut you up now." He tells me and presses my back to the door.

Deja vu.

Both his hands brace against the door. Right next to my head. Like a cage.

Deja vu.

His lips are so close to mine I can practically feel how soft they are without even touching them.

There are no butterflies in my stomach, but I'm breathing harder. It's anticipation. Edward's holding back, though, searching my eyes intently. For what, I don't know. All I know is that I like the sparkle in them. Like how his eyes get darker by the second, pupils dilating to the maximum, until his eyes are nearly completely black. Still no butterflies in my stomach, but I like how he exhales his warm breath across my face, making me all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Kind of. I place my hands on his chest, not pushing, just testing how it feels. And it feels... okay. More than that – it feels like this could be good. Really good. He's hesitant, not sure what to do. That's not something I can help him with, because I need him to show me what to do, guide me. Right here, I'm just a deer caught in the headlights. A bird in his cage.

His right hand moves to my left cheek, cradling the side of my face so tenderly it makes my head spin. I close my eyes and simply wallow in the warmth his touch provides. Human contact like this was rare for me the last five months. Though I longed for Emmett to be the one to touch me, this right here has the potential to be so much better. If only I could let Edward be that good to me.

I'm scared to take the next step, scared to move on, scared to risk the little bit of sanity I still own.

My eyes slowly open on their own volition. The sweetest smile that greets me knocks the wind right out of me. All I see is acceptance, patience and a touch of encouragement. A butterfly pops up in my stomach. It's not much, but it flutters all the same.

So if Edward's able to wait this patiently for me, I'm able to take a tiny risk after all.

I don't know when exactly my immobile hands on his chest starts to caress it, but my mouth soon follows to caress his lips in a barely there touch. Once, twice … I stop counting when I feel his other hand on my face. A feeling of safeness overcomes me, and his mouth gets a little bolder. He's being sweet – no tongue – and that's all I need right now. It's enough. For now.

"Bella? What does a blonde answer to the question: Are you sexually active?" His voice is a whisper, a little out of breath.

What? I stare blankly at him. I have no idea what he's talking about. He's kissed me dumb. He's kissed me speechless.

"No, I just lie there."

With a final soft kiss, he tells me, "Sleep tight, Bella."

One butterfly... but they sometimes do come in a pack.

One butterfly and The Captain does have a sense of humor.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My beta, my Mel, my queen of H&D.**

**Love you guys.**


	18. Chapter 18

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18/**

**August, seventeenth**

**2:31 fucking AM**

**Bella**

* * *

><p>Wide fucking awake...<p>

I didn't read Shakespeare, and I'm certainly not feeling all better about being me. If anything, I want to slap myself back to the year I was born and do everything differently. I want to be a different person. I want to be better; I don't want to be this weak anymore.

I'm crying like I've never cried before. The dam is broken, and fat tears roll over my cheeks like a waterfall.

I'm crying so fucking hard it hurts every inch of my body.

It's _that_ kind of crying.

The kind of crying that lets you barely take a breath – stricken by hiccups. The kind of crying that hurts deep in your belly, making your abs clench. I'm on the brink of vomiting or hyperventilation. I don't know. Maybe both. The kind of crying that has me thinking it'd be better to throw myself over the railing and be done with it. Exhausted is what I am. The kind of crying that makes you whimper and mewl like a wounded animal. All the noises you didn't think were humanly possible, until you realize that, yes, it's me making them. Yes, I think I'm dying. Seriously.

Dramatic? Hell, yeah.

Can I help myself? Not at all.

Did I enjoy Edward kissing me? Yes, I did. Very much.

Did it solve any of my problems with Em or myself in general? Not in the fucking slightest.

Color me fucking confused.

I don't feel better. I don't feel saner. I don't feel anything other than the urge to cry harder. Maybe there is a light, but I fail to see it at the moment. Or maybe I'm just blind.

And I feel like the biggest loser to ever walk this earth. Why can't I be happy for Emmett, if he's in love and I claim to be his best friend, wishing only the best for him? Because I'm an outsider now. I'm out of his head, out of his heart and most definitely out of his home. And all despite the fact that he made me swear to always be his girl. In one way or another. I'm willing to hold my end of the bargain.

So here is a confession: I love him. I love him so much it's hurts to let him go, and though I know I have to, I don't want to. Not a tiny bit. I'm selfish. His once whispered words of how he will always be my soulmate echo in my head on repeat. Over and over and over again. They leave a bad taste in my mouth. They make the bile rise up in my throat.

I want to sit with him on his couch, in our underwear, hair unkempt, eating ice cream until our bellies bloat.

I want to snuggle into his chest and watch stupid geeky documentaries about the world's biggest snakes.

I want to burp a song with him.

I want to fall asleep right next to him.

I want to listen to him grind his teeth in his sleep.

What used to drive me mad before, would be a welcomed sound. Hell, I'd even be glad for his morning wood poking me in the back right now.

I want his eyes to look adoringly at _me_.

Having seen him with _Rosalie_ – and oh, how I hate to call her by her name, but I do it for him anyway, because he's in love and I like him smiling all dumbly, love seeing him happy– broke my heart. Not because I want to be his girlfriend, I don't. He's not the man I want. I want my best friend – my soulmate – back. Just for the summer. Just until I figure out a way to live without him. As if that was even possible. I'm not ready to let him go. I loved our bubble. It was a very safe bubble. I want my fucking bubble back.

My whole world is off-axis. A world I've never pictured without him. His house was my home – I don't even call my own apartment home. Home is, where he is. Or it used to be. His heart was all that mattered to me. His touch was what made everything all right when I stumbled my way through darkness. Now? He barely hugs me anymore, as if the last twelve years were a part of my imagination. As if they didn't happen. As if he doesn't know me at all. I get that he's in love. I get it. Truly. But throwing away our past for someone you barely know? That leaves me thinking he lied to me. About everything. About how much I mean to him. About how much he cares for me. About our whole friendship in general. And most of all, he takes away the feeling of security, leaving me to fend for myself.

Geez, this makes him sound as if he's the meanest person ever. He's not to blame for all of this crap alone, though. It takes two to tango. I should have kept my pants above the navel as well. I admit it.

What I as sure as fuck don't want to admit, is that Rosalie is probably not as dumb as I made her out to be. Yeah, she does like to talk about sick, furry, oh-so-cute animals a whole fucking lot and maybe her lisp makes her sound dumber than she actually is, I think she's not that bad. And man, do I want to hate her, but I find that I just can't. I fucking can't hate her because she makes Emmett smile like a goddamned idiot. I give her credit for that, and oh, do I hate myself at this moment.

To tell the truth, I don't even know why I cling so much to Emmett. That's a lie. I know exactly why. He's a good man. He made my life easier. He guided me in the right directions, took me by the hand and took away my fears along the way.

I don't know which way is up or down anymore.

The icing on my fucking cake of confusion? The Captain. He's the total opposite of Emmett, and yet I feel drawn to him like I've never been drawn to a man before. Our kiss plays in my head accompanied by a cheesy love song. Celine Dion. And I hate that caterwauler. It's no use denying that I feel attracted to him, captivated by his spell. Where Emmett is calm, soft-spoken and everyone's darling – never arguing, never raising his voice – Edward is fierce and dominant with a no bullshit attitude. I won't lie. He makes my skin crawl and my panties damp with just one bushy eyebrow pulled up and one single word in a commanding tone. So, I'm thinking. All those stories I read that starred a Dom – what is up with that? They got me exited beyond my wildest fantasies that's for sure, but... is it just a fantasy or do I want to act out on that? Should I even want to act out on it? I just can't see myself walking around with a collar, crawling on all fours for a man. Do I actually need that? Is that the reason no man was able to get me off before, or didn't they just have any idea about female anatomy? Or am I to fault for that too? I seriously doubt a guy wagging a whip will make me come. But maybe I want a man to guide me; need a man to take me by the hand and tell me what to do, leaving all of my decisions to him. Those trashy novels made it all seem so easy. Is a D/s relationship what I want? I can't see how that would work out with me being snarky all the time. My ass would be slapped raw seven days of the week. Do I even want to be spanked at all? Sure, a little ass slap from the Captain feels quite nice. But really... a spanking as a punishment for misdemeanor? I left kindergarten a lifetime ago. Might this be a sexual preference of mine or am I just too scared to face the world on my own and rely on a man too much? As awesome as Google is, the fucking thing couldn't help me with that issue one tiny bit. Do I want to be ordered around, not using the fantastic brain god gave me, before I drank it all away? God, my world is falling apart here. This is miserable. I am miserable.

And since misery loves company, I pulled out the big guns. My good old, and very trusty friend Mr. Daniel joined my pity party two hours ago. He won't make me any wiser, but he helps to numb my useless brain. Three-fourths into the goodness that is Jack Daniel's, my head is spinning like never before, and I can barely make out the shape of this room anymore. I can hardly see straight, not only because I'm crying like a baby – or more precisely like a lunatic. Do I care about any of that, though? Not a fucking bit.

So I tell myself:

Fuck Rosalie.

Fuck Emmett.

Fuck his puppy-dog eyes.

Fuck myself for agreeing to go on this fucking vacation after all. I lack a backbone.

Fuck me for loving him.

Fuck him for treating me worse than the dirt under his shoes.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

Fuck that the room suddenly started to spin like a carousel.

Fuck that I think I just heard my door click.

And fuck that I look like a homeless person under my rumpled covers in my even more rumpled Hello Kitty jammies.

Fuck my red, teary eyes drenching the too scratchy pillow beneath my face.

Fuck the snot running out of my nose.

Fuck trashy romance novels about a Dominant who makes his pet come multiple times by just touching a nipple. Ha! As if... I call bullshit.

But fuck how I want that so much.

And most importantly: fuck The Captain.

Fuck him for confusing me even more – with his lips, his fiery green eyes, his domineering personality and his ability to make my body tingle like I touched an electric fence.

Fuck that I don't know what I want or need.

And fuck, fuck, fuck the self-pity parties I throw constantly.

Oh fuck...I'm gonna be sick.

Fuck that I see four blurry green eyes looking all worried at me. Fuck the scowl he's sporting.

And fuck how I want to be in his arms so much right now. Fuck how I want to be desired by him and not forgotten by Emmett.

And double-fuck how I just barfed into a bucket, heroically provided by my captain. This can't possibly get any worse.

When I realize how adoringly he holds my hair back, I want to vomit some more.

After I'm finally done puking my guts out, he climbs into my bed, holding me tightly to his chest, letting me snot some more into his shirt and I want to die of embarrassment. He doesn't seem to care about the nastiness that is me. And when I feel his fingers stroking my hair like I mean the world to him, I want to tell him to fuck off or maybe tell him to stay forever.

"You're gonna be all right, Bella."

* – mlty – *

Jesus... I will never drink again! Wait, I said that last time, didn't I? Lesson definitely not learned, loser.

And what is that goddamned smell? This can't be me, right? Ugh, I'm sweating like a pig. This heat is unbearable.

Oh, god... the pounding in my head...

I can practically feel my brain trying to flee from its container. It's digging into my skull from the inside... with a fucking chisel. Right through my eyes. I don't deserve this torture. I'm a good girl, for fuck's sake. Besides the drinking.

There's a third arm – around my stomach – that doesn't belong to me... I think. Also, there's something poking my ass. Feels like a dick, but I'm not sure about that either.

"Good morning, boozer." Edward? God, he's chipper...

"If you know what's good for you, you'll use sign language to communicate with me, Captain. What the hell are you even doing here?" My voice sounds scratchy. I must still be drunk and delusional since he continues to sport some major – as far as I can tell – morning wood. Perhaps he's really into smelly, sweaty alcoholics. Jeez, I can't even turn my head to look at him. It fucking hurts. And though I hate to admit it, he feels kind of nice all wrapped around my back. But I don't want to admit anything, so I chose to ignore.

"Way to thank me for keeping you from choking to death on your own vomit. Get up." He's annoyed and back to his usual commanding captain glory. Oh, happy day. In my pants.

Fucker must be drunk, too, if he expects me to get up now. Not for all the money in the world will I move a single muscle here.

I guess he's not in a mood to put up with me today. With one swift motion, he hoists my aching body over his shoulder.

"What the hell, Edward? I swear to God, I will barf all over you, if you don't put me down right the fuck now."

He's unimpressed. What else is new? He simply keeps on carrying me to the bathroom, dumps me in the shower, and turns the faucet on. Needless to say, it's fucking cold. My kitty is wet in an instant. Hello Kitty, that is. My nipples probably salute him, "Good morning, sir."

Sadly, my nipples don't catch his attention. With his ass against the sink, arms crossed over his chest - his stance seems casual, but his face is anything but. He's seething.

"B, I will not stand by and watch while you destroy yourself. I might not know you that well, but I certainly realize when someone's crying out for help. Finish your shower, get dressed and meet me in the dining room for breakfast. Your liquid diet ends now. And, missy? Noncompliance _will_ be punished."

The bathroom door doesn't click. It slams.

Funny... one stern look and the world seems a little brighter.

One seethed promise and I think I might quite like to crawl for him on all fours.

Confusing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Over 200 reviews? Wow. Thank you, my dear readers, so much. Still, please don't throw rotten vegetables at me for this chapter, k?**

**We will get to the good stuff. But clearly Bella has issues that The Captain needs to solve. Slap, pardon, I meant _stat_.**

**My lady love goes out to Mel and Bnjwl.**

**Kyla? I'm watching you ;)**


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19/**

**August seventeenth**

**08:31 AM**

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

I showered for at least half an hour, trying desperately to scrub away last night, and I still smell like I mopped the floor of a bar with my skin. It's gross. I'm gross. There should be a sign on my back that spells "kick me." It's no use to drag out the inevitable any longer. Gotta go and face the music.

On my way to the dining room, Emmett and Rosalie cross my path. Fucking great. They look so cheery and in love, and that's exactly the thing I need now – only it's not. Sadly, my stomach is empty, so there will be no barfing on a certain pair of bright pink high heels. Those shoes are not mine. I don't wear things that make your eyes bleed. I plaster a smile on my face anyway.

Surprisingly, Rosalie is the first to speak.

"Good morning, Isabella. I'm glad we ran into you. I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a second?"

The lisping beauty looks perfect, even this god-awful early in the morning. Since The Captain will have my ass anyway, I figure letting him wait a few more minutes won't hurt. Much. I hope so. There's no telling with him.

"Call me Bella, Rosalie. And yeah, sure. Let's talk." I give Emmett a look that says, _"See the things I do for you, idiot? Look at the halfway genuine smile on my face."_ Emmett just looks – I don't know – like he hopes I won't rip Rosalie's hair out. One by painful one. Or maybe he's afraid I'll spill our little secret. No need to break out in a sweat, my dear friend. I'm jealous, but I'm not a bitch. You should know.

Rosalie tells Emmett to go ahead and start breakfast without her.

"See you in a few, Emmy-bear." Emmy-bear? _Emmy-bear?_ My eyebrows shoot up to meet my hairline. They have pet names already? Normally I'd crack a joke here, but I'm too hung-over to be witty right now. And what could she possibly have to talk to me about? The sound of her high heels on the floorboards as she walks toward me makes me cringe. God, I hope she's not about to kick my ass. I'm too skinny to have a bitch fight, and I bruise easily.

"Okay, Bella... I owe you an apology." _Say_ w_hat? _Could you repeat that slowly please, Dr. Doolittle? "Emmett told me you were best friends. I don't know exactly why things are so tense between you. He wouldn't tell me, but whatever it is, he's really sad about it. He wanted to use this vacation to make things right, but... yeah, I begged him to take me on this vacation, too. My last two serious relationships ended because I let my boyfriends go on vacation with their female best buddies. Turned out they were best at fucking each other's brains out. I can't live through that again. I'm sorry. This must be so hard for you." She lets out a deep breath at the end of her rant.

Geez, hit me with your pitiful story, why don't you? I can't really look her in the eyes. On one hand, I want to scream at her and tell her that yeah, it's fucking hard for me. Emmett's not just my buddy. He's so much more. But on the other hand... I feel bad for her.

This is what I always do – every single time someone hurts me. I have too much compassion, except for myself. I was wronged, have every right to be pissed, but yet I understand how she feels and even feel sorry for her. I seriously think I'm defective. Shouldn't I be mad at her and break her leg or something?

"It's okay, Rosalie. You should be here. He's your boyfriend." God, it hurts to tell the truth. Defeat is something I'd like to wear with dignity – head held high – but I'm not sure I can pull that off here. And yeah, it's not her fault Emmett's a douche. Gotta break his leg instead.

"Still, I know what an annoying ass he can be. If you want to talk about it or anything at all, I'm here for you, Bella. I'd like to get to know you." Her sincerity rubs me the wrong way somehow. I can't really tell if she's honest or lying her ass off. You know, keep your enemy close and all that crap.

Fucking freak show is what this ship is, and I'm the ringmaster.

* – mlty – *

I'm a little late. Not by much, but it's enough to make me nervous. When I enter the dining room, I know my punishment has already started. The Captain is sitting at a single table in the far corner of the room. Far enough away from everyone else to rip me a new one without any witnesses, I'm sure. He's drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. I take my time to appreciate the view regardless. He looks delicious in his navy blue shirt and old rugged jeans. I'd totally drool if he wasn't sporting that damned scowl on his face.

I drag my ass very slowly to the table – but not without kicking Emmy-bears' chair along my merry way – and take my seat across from him. Against my better judgment, I should add. It would be smarter to just run away. However, I'm a glutton for punishment.

"You're eight minutes late." His mood is sour. Yeah, so is mine. Excuse me for being a good girl and making nice with the vet, Mr. Punctual. Why don't you throw a hissy fit over your eight precious minutes?

"So what? Are you going to spank my ass for each minute I was late or something?" I _really_ can't control the shit that comes out of my mouth sometimes. It's a disease. Just google "spastic." I'm sure my face will pop up.

"Why would I sp...?" At first he's confused and then you can literally see a light bulb go on over his head. Beats me what this is about. He's weird like that.

"Ooh. Do you feel like you deserve it? Would that make you feel better, Bella?" He's too smooth suddenly. Hold on... When did I take a seat on a leather couch – with him holding a prescription pad?

"Ugh. Can't we just get on with it? I'm sorry, okay? You didn't need to see the train wreck that was last night. Thank you for taking care of me, though." It's not just a line; I mean it. Wholeheartedly.

"I don't want your apology. Tell me what's wrong. Why are you so utterly sad? To tell you the truth, it breaks my heart. It's crazy. We don't know each other at all, but when I saw you the first day on my ship, you stood there on deck all alone, gazing at the ocean, your gorgeous eyes pleading for something. You looked so helpless, I just wanted to take you into my arms and never let go." The way his beautiful eyes search my face for something – whatever that might be – melts my heart. He truly wants to know and somehow I feel like I can trust him. Something deep inside me tells me he won't betray me.

"I'm confused." The words leave my mouth in a whisper.

"About what exactly? That's your coffee, by the way. I figured you'd need it." He points to the cup of steaming liquid black in front of me. There's also a plate of fruit and a bowl with cereal and milk. Neither of those things are good for my stomach, but I do take a sip of coffee and let the warmth wash over me. It feels good. But not as good as Edward's hand on mine, squeezing gently and holding on tightly.

"Tell me." It's not a demand but a plea, and it's shocking. There is not a single ounce of fight in me any longer when he begs me like this. He's cracked my wall.

"I lost my best and only friend." It's hard to say it out loud and still suppress the urge to cry at the same time. You'd think I'm all cried out after my snot-fest last night.

"Let me guess... Emmett?"

"Yes."

I don't know why, or how, or for what reason, but I end up telling Edward my whole pathetic life in gruesome detail. My childhood, my teenage years, the drug use, my sexual encounters, my relationship with Emmett, our unique friendship and the incident in February. I leave out the part about the sex toys, though. For two and a half hours, he listens without judging, encourages me to go on with little squeezes to my hand. Never once does he let go of it. When I'm done pouring my heart out to a stranger – a stranger who kissed me – I feel exhausted, but lighter. So much lighter. Like a heavy burden has been lifted off my shoulders. I don't ever want this feeling to go away. There should be an app for that feeling.

"Come on, baby love. Let's get out of here." I couldn't agree more with him. Throughout the whole conversation, I literally felt everyone's stares on the back of my head. There will be an ambush later. Nosey fuckers took longer to eat their breakfast than I've ever seen before.

Just when I'm about to head for the exit, Edward stills my movement with a hand on my elbow. I don't have the time to wonder what he wants, as I find myself face to face with him. Really close. Both of his hands cradle my head between them and suddenly...

_smack!_

He kisses me... right... on... my... lips. Right in front of everyone. As brief as that kiss is, it leaves me stunned. Others as well it seems, based on their murmurs. I can't meet their eyes if my life depended on it, but I catch a glimpse of Esme, just in time to see her wink at me with a pretty big smile on her face. Mine's red as a traffic light.

With his signature slap to my ass, Edward tells me to move on. Somehow I'm sure he didn't mean just the walk out of this room.

* – mlty – *

Edward's on a mission. A mission to drive me insane – well, insaner than I already am. If he thinks sightseeing would a good way to cure my hangover, then he's wronger than an old man in a Hello Kitty store.

He feeds me lunch, drags me all around this beautiful island, feeds me dinner, and then drags me around some more. His arm is a permanent fixture around my shoulders. I like it. Very much. I bask in all his handsome glory and the feeling of security he provides. Every once in a while, he randomly stops to kiss me. Chastely. Just a brief peck square on my mouth. His soft lips take away my breath anyway. It's all part of his evil plan. A plan to have me eat out of his hand by the end of the night. He'll succeed if he carries on like this. No matter how crazy he makes me with his teasing, he takes my mind off all things complicated in my life. And underneath his evilness lurks an incredibly intelligent man. He doesn't waste time on inane chatter; he's not much of a talker. But when he speaks, it's profound. Well, he's profound when he's not annoying the crap out of me.

"I still didn't forget about your spanking comment, by the way. If that's what you were hoping for." This evil glint in his eyes is annoying, for example. It is so peaceful here on the beach – lying side by side, our bodies touching from shoulder to our pinky toes – gazing at the summer day sky slowly turning into night. He has to ruin that, doesn't he?

"Yeah, well... I still didn't forget how you refused to answer my question about the BDSM club, either." Eat that, darling!

"Touché. I'm just curious, given your choice in literature. I didn't peg you for a silk tie girl. Not really... Show me yours, and I'll show you mine?" He takes my hand in his, and the touch is enough for me to ignore his innuendo, enough to spill my secrets. I know they're safe with him.

"This is a rather intimate topic. Hell, I... Uhmm. It's part of why I'm so confused. I enjoy reading stuff like that, and now I wonder... you know?"

"Do you think that's why you never orgasmed with a man, that your needs are a little bit – let's call it special?" Yeah, can you imagine I told him about the lack of orgasms – provided by someone other than me – over a cup of coffee? Me neither.

"See that's the thing. I wouldn't know. I never acted out on those fantasies. Maybe I'm defective, but I know I get off just fine by myself." Uuugh. Foot meet mouth. Again.

"Hey, hey, no need to be ashamed, Bella." I feel him move beside me, but I can't look at him. He weasels his arm under my neck and tugs my head to his chest. His other hand finds anchor on the small of my back. This human cage he creates around me is my happy place.

"Maybe you didn't climax because there was no bond between you and your sexual partners?" He sounds like a sex therapist, and it's making me uncomfortable.

"I had a bond with Emmett, a strong one, and it still didn't get me over the finish line, so to speak. He was a generous lover, tried really hard." Over-share much, Bella? And call my tone defensive, 'cause that's what I am.

"Don't be mad. I'm just trying to help. But I know exactly what you mean. The BSDM club? It was my first and only visit to a place like that. I have special needs, too. They are, however, not met by gagging random women and whipping their asses raw."

I don't feel defensive any longer; my interest is piqued.

"Is that so? Just how kinky are you, Mr. Masen?" I think I'm flirting. Sort of. Trying at least.

Edward pushes me softly onto my back and hovers halfway over me, his left hand bracing the sand near my head, his face so close to mine.

"Wouldn't you like to know, baby?" Why yes, I would, but I'd really like you to kiss me senseless first. Now is a good time as any in my humble opinion.

It appears as if I'll get my wish, when his face inches closer to mine, so close until all I can see are his eyes. The dusk surrounding us bathes him in a mysterious light. His eyes sparkle nonetheless. And then… I feel his lips, like a feather on my own, lingering. My eyes close on their own accord as I breathe him in. He shortly pulls back a bit and then returns for more with a purpose this time. Gone is the soft touch as his lips find their home on mine, claiming them as his own. When he touches his tongue to my bottom lip, time stops immediately. Everything around me fades away. There's just him. The Captain. Edward. Mine. I part my lips for him – waiting. And when I feel his tongue on mine for the first time – hesitant – I can't help arching my back, molding my front to his chest. With the tiniest of all groans, he pulls me on top of him in one swift motion, taking my head into his hands, guiding it the way he sees fit. Our tongues never part, getting to know each other really well. My thighs squeeze his hips tightly as I straddle him. He's making me dizzy when he nibbles my bottom lip and runs his tongue along it. I'm breathing so hard I should be ashamed. But here with him, I feel nothing other than alive. Soon our kiss escalates into a frenzy and I want to rub against him. It's a primal need, when I feel how much he wants me, but he controlls my movements - not the other way around. He doesn't let this go any further than the amazing kiss as it is.

And when he seperates his mouth from mine, I want to dive right back, but I can't. He holds my head steady to look into my eyes.

"Spend the night in my cabin. No funny business. I just don't want you to be alone and overuse that brain of yours, okay?"

He's wickedly out of breath.

So am I.

All the more reason for me to nod my head.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Happy reading, yes?**

**I think we're through with the major angst. For now. Forever. Who knows...**

**Mel is my beta / dear friend. The best one could wish for. **

**Bnjwl, marry me? **

**Kyla: Still watching you, but with one eye closed ;)**


	20. Chapter 20

**I don't own Twilight.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 20/**

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><p><strong>August eighteenth<strong>

**12:12 ****AM**

**Bella**

He's flipped a switch inside of me.

Inside my head and my body.

I'm a trembling mess for my captain. He's steering me toward the edge. Slowly but ever so surely.

"No funny business" was what he said, but I don't think he actually meant it. For some reason, he probably knew I would think things over, questioning everything to the point of hiding in my cabin forever. He had good intentions, I'm sure. He just couldn't foresee a spark to go up in flames. It's like he can't get enough of me either.

After he practically carried me from the beach to his cabin at lightning speed, we're now tangled up in his sheets. He's lost his shirt along the way, but I don't mind at all. On the contrary: I thrive on touching his smooth chest. It's so defined, and his skin is baby soft and warm.

I've gone so, so long without a human touch, without a kiss, without a man's hand on my naked thighs. I really don't wanna rush things, since it's all I ever do, but he feels too damn good. His touch sets me on fire. I burn for him. The humidity of the air makes my flimsy dress stick to my body like glue. His hands have a hard time sliding it higher up my legs. The kisses he plants on my lips, my neck, my collarbone – just the sight of him, hovering over me, his left knee wedged between my thighs – is so utterly arousing to me. His bicep flexes with every move he makes.

Though I hoped he'd have a tattoo... somewhere... I never pictured him to have this colorful masterpiece across his chest. I love it and can barely hold myself back from licking every inch of it. The hair on his arms stands on end as he slowly feels up my leg from ankle to hip. Gripping hard, but not hard enough to leave bruises. I'm twitching.

Goose bumps appear on every inch of my skin because of his torturously slow discovery of me. When his mouth captures my lips in a passionate kiss – our tongues gliding against each other – I can't help the deep moan that erupts from within me. His full, thoroughly kissed lips fit perfectly to mine. He's breathing harder, and I love what I do to him, without doing much at all; love how I can feel his jean-clad arousal against my thigh. I want to touch it badly, but I'm not the one in charge here. He is. And it suits him so well. However he wants my body to bend, to arch, to writhe, he's got it with a single flick of his wrist, with a little nudge of his knee against my leg, with a tiny, cocky smile on his face and one eyebrow pulled high.

So here we are... He's half naked, hovering over me. I'm fully clothed, but my dress might as well be see-through, since it's soaked with anticipation and so much more. My nipples strain against the fabric to meet his hands which linger so close without actually touching. I want to explore every piece of his naked skin I can get my hands on. His evil plan to drive me crazy with want is in full effect. I dig my fingers so hard into his biceps, it has to hurt.

"Lift your arms for me, baby." He moves his hands along my side, down to the bottom of my dress, squeezing the material hard in both fists.

I hesitate.

For a second, my whole sexual past flashes before my eyes, and it makes me shudder. Not in a good way. Each new conquest was followed by a feeling of hope that they could play me like an old guitar, only to have this sinking feeling and disappointment as soon as the boring deed was done. Each and every time I was left unsatisfied flashes before my eyes, all the times I failed, feeling disgusted with myself for being so promiscuous, feeling disgusted for searching for that special someone that never seemed to exist. The memory of every sexy novel I ever read flashes before my eyes. Every blindfold, every wrist tied to a headboard, every silky tie dragged slowly across a trembling body... every time my hope was crushed...

The Captain, though, doesn't let me drown in my thoughts. With his thumb softly stroking my bottom lip, he pulls me out of my cloudy thoughts, making me focus only on him. A serene look plays on his face as he waits patiently for me to decide. Yes? No? With a tiny nod of my head, I guess it's time to drag the offending garment off me, and that's just what he does. Leaving my upper half equally naked as his. Though now's not the time for me to get all coy with him, I try to cross my arms around my chest. I don't have the biggest boobs – they're perky, yeah, but he's never seen them before, so I'm not sure if he'll like them. I want him to like them so much. More than that, I want him to touch them, but I'm suddenly insecure. Edward's quick to grab my wrists in his hands and away from my body, placing my arms above my head, but not releasing them. Taking his sweet time, he looks me in the eyes for what feels like an eternity, giving me a lazy smile that changes quickly into a wicked grin when he gazes down at my breasts, heaving with every breath I take. Sex personified is what he is. All muscles, all strength. It makes me frantic and I try to wrestle my arms away from under his touch, one arm at the least out of his grip, to touch him, tear his pants, feel his cock, and everything else accessible to my hands, but he denies me in stern voice...

"Keep your hands above your head."

Yeah... when he's talking to me like that, I have no free will to do otherwise. I just need to be good for him. I don't dare to even move a tiny inch. A little nagging voice inside my head tells me to make this quick, though, tells me to get him off and get it over with... He's got me too worked up already and disappointment's looming... There's no chance in hell I'll succeed, though. Not with the way he holds my arms above my head, not with the way he presses his thighs on top of my own, holding them in place, parted for him. Not with the way he pushes my sad excuse of underwear down to my knees. Leaving me bare to his touch and his eyes. With a sexy lick of his tongue across his lips, his fingers start to explore.

Oh boy, do they explore.

Testing the waters with a light touch... only to discover that I'm a slick mess for him. The glorious smile he gives me is the best approval. Soon his fingers know no mercy, spreading me open to his touch. He's done with teasing. His breath across my face heats everything inside of me; he's like a drug. I breathe him in shamelessly, while his fingers play me like his favorite, well-known toy. He places a hot kiss upon my lips, his fingers never losing their rhythm. On both sides of my clit, never touching directly, though. My back arches on its own accord, nearly shoving my breasts into his face. His grip on my wrists nearly cuts off my blood supply, but I can't be bothered with little details like that. Not when he slides his fingers through my heat like a pro. I'm panting, sweating, swearing... Seconds away from screaming his name in a prayer... or a curse.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

In my mind I beg him to do one more thing. The certain thing to push me over the edge. Just a little something. I don't know what exactly, just... do it... anything. Slap my ass, bite my nipple, yank my hair... I don't care...

Just do something.

"You're my good little girl, aren't you?"

I'm startled for a moment, but when Edward slides two fingers inside of me, his thumb finally, _finally _finding my clit, all I can do is...

shatter...

and twitch...

and pant...

Because nothing, _nothing_ in this world gets any closer to bliss than I am right now.

"See, baby love? You function just fine without being whipped." Cocky bastard. Rightfully so.

"Mmmh..."

The last thing I remember is how he takes my feeble hands off his crotch, keeping me from rushing him to a well deserved _O. _

"Sleep tight, precious."

Yeah, I don't even have the strength to get the last word in.

...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'll make this quick:**

**My readers: I adore you.**

**My Bnjwl and my Mel: I love you.**

**Me: hiding.  
><strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21/**

* * *

><p><strong>August eighteenth<strong>

**Time to do the walk of shame**

**Or is it?**

**Bella**

The sun shines brightly through the little window next to this small bed I'm currently lying in, warming my skin and stinging my eye. I am awake for quite some time now; a mild panic attack lingers in the back of my head.

Edward's whole body is curled around mine. He has me in a vise grip, not leaving an inch of space between us; nearly suffocating me. I'm overheated, sweaty and sticky beneath him.

Yet, somehow it's very cozy. Especially with his one leg hooked over both of mine, one hand on the small of my back, and the other at my neck, fisting my hair in a tight grip and pushing my face into his chest. He smells heavenly. He feels even better. The goose bumps on my skin and the stickiness between my thighs can attest to that. I'm squirming, needing friction like I need air. It's a good morning. Or so his cock tells me, poking my thigh through the jeans he failed to take off last night. I want to touch it and wake him properly, but I'm not sure he'd want me to.

But no matter how cozy and safe I feel in his embrace, it's uncomfortable all the same, and I don't dare to move a little finger and risk to wake him up in the process. He'd scold me if he could see the expression of a hard thinking mess on my face. I'm trapped in my own head once again, everything plays in a loop. What am I doing here? Is this right? Did I set myself up for another failure? My pounding heart tells me no, tells me it is okay. More than that, it tells me this has the opportunity to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

After Emmett.

Though last night was... orgasmic, I feel a little ashamed. It's the same pattern I've always had: get to know a nice guy, bang him, only to be sent on my merry way without further promise of a call the next day or even a fucking coffee. I can't seem to learn and Jesus, how I want to slap myself for it. Yeah, Edward and I didn't have sex, but that's only because _he_ wouldn't let us. I was more than willing; actually I craved it because he proved himself to be a good lover by providing my first _real_ orgasm and taking none for himself. I wonder what he wants in return... even more, I wonder what his brand of kinky is. Though he told me he had some special needs himself, what we did last night was not something out of the ordinary – at all. He's a little domineering, sure, but that's not unusual for a guy. So I wonder... He had a copy of my favorite book in stock. Does that mean he _is_ into the whole BDSM thing? Is he a closet Dom, warming me up all nice and slow to suddenly slap my ass raw? I watched my fair share of BDSM porn, and though I found them arousing, I don't want to be bound to a chair, treated like an object, and gagged on someone's cock. I think. Well, yes, I like it a little rough and I long to please my man with my whole capacity, being a good girl to my lover – emphasis on _my_. That, however, doesn't mean I want to be fucked like an animal, no feelings involved. And I'm not sure about the pain aspect. It's one thing to fantasize about something, but an entirely different thing to actually try it. And a flogger does look quite intimidating to be honest.

Another uncomfortable thing to think about? The bunch of people outside of this cabin, the people dear to my heart for the past twelve years: Emmett's family. They have never seen me with another man besides him. Mind you, I wasn't abstinent at all. Stealthy? You bet. They're surely waiting for an explanation why The Captain kissed me yesterday. Their guess is as good as mine.

It's funny how I dread to cross Emmett's path today. Funny how he hurt me so much and I have every right to do as I please. I'm a single woman for fuck's sake, but still I feel somewhat dependent on his approval. It dawns on me even more now that I have to cut the ties that bind me to him. He certainly doesn't seem to be tied to me anymore. He has a girlfriend. A gorgeous one. I can't compete with that, nor do I really want to. He's just the one good, constant thing in my life. That's hard letting go of.

Should I embrace this fling with Edward? Try to live out my fantasies with a stranger I will never see again when the vacation is over? Just let loose and enjoy? Or should I get up and leave? Quietly? And avoid him for the rest of this trip?

"Go back to sleep, Bella."

Wow, his voice in the morning is even sexier when he's all sleepy.

"I'm wide awake. I don't think I can sleep anymore."

"Tell me about it. You've been fidgeting around for over an hour at least."

So much for trying to be stealthy. His grip on my body doesn't falter one bit. I can feel his hot breath on the top of my head, slowly creeping through my body, down to my toes.

"Want me to take your mind off the things that plague you?"

What a tease he is. I can practically feel the smirk he's sporting. Eh, why the hell not? I might as well enjoy the ride... for as long as it'll last. I barely finish nodding my head into his chest when he already has me flat on my back, looking all startled up at him. His green eyes seem happy today, eager even.

"You're thinking too much. Time for you to concentrate on something else. Put your hands above your head. And keep them there."

With a jump, he's out of the bed, leaving me startled and naked in it; staring at his bare back and tight jean-clad ass as he moves – to wherever it is he's going. That leaves me with a lot of time to appreciate the two black swallows decorating his shoulder blades. It also leaves me with a lot of time to notice how worked up I am. A few words from him and my nipples stand on attention. A few words on how he wants me to move or not and my breathing picks up noticeably. There's no decision to make. At least not consciously. My arms stay above my head without my brain telling them to do so.

Edward returns from out of his closet a few seconds later, holding something in his hands with a lustful stare in his eyes. His gaze wanders from my face, down to my exposed breasts, way down to where a sheet should actually cover me below the navel. When did I wrestle the sheets to my knees? A better question would be, however, what Edward plans to do with the rope in his hands. Just the sight of it leaves me tingly – albeit a little frightened, but curious nonetheless. He straddles my hips, and with skilled fingers, he loops the scratchy material around the metal bed posts, binding my wrists in an artfully knot to it. My mother would be proud with the panting I have going on here.

The feeling of being restrained is new to me. I've fantasized about something like this more times than I dare to count, but the reality is so much more arousing; so much better than you see in cheap porn where they don't even care about screens not turned on while a scantly clad Barbie types furiously on a keyboard. My back arches without Edward even laying a finger on me. The moan that comes out of my mouth is not voluntary but very much appreciated by him. The glint in his eyes tells me so and I love that I please him.

"There you go, baby. Spread your legs." He whispers to me as he scoots down to my knees, resting his butt in the space I created between my thighs, cradling my face in his right hand. With his other hand, he softly touches his forefinger to my left nipple and then in a not predictable move, he pinches it tightly between his thumb and said forefinger, making me hiss. A tingle spreads through me from head to toe. Ever so slowly he strokes his hand from my breast to my navel, repeating the pattern over and over again – neglecting to touch my poor nipples that want his fingers so much. Just before I am starting to beg for a firmer touch, he runs a finger farther down to my flesh that is hot and sticky for him, flicking my clit one time and then leaving me without any touch at all. Never in my life have I been more desperate for a man. It's hard to swallow the lump in my throat, even more so when his face finally nears the heated flesh, as he scoots down. He does not take his eyes off my the whole time. I can feel his breath on my skin there, warm and moist, and it's torturing me. The anticipation is killing me. I move my hips upwards, trying to find the friction I need right now, but I can't move like I want to with my arms tied above my head. Can't touch him like I want to. I feel helpless and frantic as his both hands hold my legs wide apart for him. He meets my gaze and encourages me with a slight nod of his head.

And now... there's nowhere for me to move, leaving me completely at his mercy. But I don't mind. Not with him. Not one bit.

He decides when and where to touch me and it's fine with me, but all I can feel is his hot breath grazing my skin and not his tongue touch me where I need it the most. He's driving me nuts with his games, but I am trying to be a patient girl. No doubt, I will fail.

"Keep still."

Yes, sir, I want to scream, but again, I'm not sure that's what he wants to hear; the desire to scream it anyway is huge. It's not that I can help my thighs from twitching, either. It's not that I can help myself from wanting him so much.

I let out a long, impatient moan – or probably something resembling a whimper – and then he finally puts his mouth to where the fire burns. _Yes. Yes. Yes._ He's not an amateur. That, I can tell by the first firm stroke of his tongue and the way his fingers spread me apart skillfully. No awkward fumbling, no hesitant searching... he knows what he's doing. God, does he ever. It's overwhelming, exciting, new... satisfying. In more than just a physical sense. With every stroke of his tongue, he takes away my worries. I can finally be myself, no matter the sounds that come out of my mouth, no matter how much my body trembles, and no matter how close I already am to peaking. It's all very much welcome by him. A proud twinkle in his eyes as he watches me intently. His hands grip my thighs hard, keeping them apart for him, keeping me from closing them and denying myself this pleasure. It's too much and not enough at the same time.

When his thumb meets my clit and his tongue glides into me, I'm holding on by a thread, shaking like a leaf. Even moaning is a hard task to accomplish with what little air I seem to get into my system. I want to let him know how much he pleases me, but it's just not possible to do so when all I can manage is to hold an animalistic scream at bay. He sure helps me out with that as he puts a hand over my mouth.

"There you go. Let go, baby. I've got you."

He pinches my clit hard one time and that's when I shatter, spasming as if I'm having a seizure. Good God. Damn it. This orgasm doesn't stop and I break out in a sweat, shaking and panting.

When I finally come to my senses, I can see his cock tenting his jeans, dying to get out of its prison, I'm sure. I want to touch it, touch his whole body, but I'm in no position to do so, only waiting for further commands he'll surely give in a few. My feet don't wait for his permission, though, slowly creeping upwards outside of his thighs. Just a tiny touch.

"What's the rush, Bella? We've got all time in the world. Let's go get some breakfast" He tells me as he holds my ankles in his hands, stroking them lovingly with his thumbs. He leans forward to touch his lips briefly to my nose and then he unties the rope that strangely set my mind free.

Yeah, he might have all the time in the world...

I'm dying to make up for the years I wasted.

And I really don't want to leave this bubble just yet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Thank you, Bnjwl and Mel, for always being there for me. i love you two dearly.**

**My sweet readers: you bring me joy. **

**This will probably be the last update for two weeks. I'll be on vacation starting tomorrow. On a boat... **


	22. Chapter 22

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22/**

**August nineteenth**

* * *

><p><strong>Bella<strong>

Who knew something as simple as having breakfast could turn into an epic disaster? Certainly not me, since I don't usually eat breakfast. Just another one of my nasty habits. Aside from heavy drinking, chain smoking and the occasional slutty behavior.

Emmett is giving me the evil eye from across the table – and so is Rosalie – but I have no idea as to what might have caused their annoyed expressions. Nonetheless it makes me feel like I've been caught with both hands in the cookie jar or his mother's purse.

The morning started out so well when I rolled around in the sheets with Edward, and we kissed like horny teenagers. When we made our way to the dining room, Edward held my hand the whole time and gave my ass a playful smack just as we entered what seemed to be the dining room from Hell. Though the Captain's casual display of affection in front of everyone made me feel somewhat weird – sort of nervous and uneasy – it was a feeling of safeness at the same time that was very much welcome in my book. It's a sweet bubble I have with Edward, but it might burst at any time. I think. And since I like to be prepared for moments like that, I try not to become too attached to him and try to just live in the here and now. After all, sweet moments like this didn't used to last long for me in the past.

He's making it hard not to fall in love with him, though. The tenderness he shows with his random, innocent touches, the way he smiles at me every now and then, and the way he holds my hand right now – for everyone to see – those gestures are exactly what makes it so hard not to fall for him. Damn him. Really.

So _if_ Edward might have no intention to burst our bubble just yet, Emmett sure seems to have one, with the way he looks like he wants to see me dead and buried six feet under.

"So, Bella... Did you have a fun time... last night?" I'm surprised Emmett didn't actually spit in my face with all the hatred he's spewing.

"Yeah, Bella, did you sleep at all last night?" Rosalie's high pitched-voice is painful this early in the morning. Just like a chainsaw to your skull. Furthermore I don't like the tone she's using with me at all, and I'd really appreciate it if she'd just keep her voice down. I'm not dumb. I know where this is going – it's about to get really ugly, and I'm not prepared for it at all, so I keep my mouth shut and my eyes down, trying to avoid the drama. Now is not the time to let everyone in this room know what a slut I really am.

Aside from that, public humiliation doesn't sit well with me. It never has. My mom made sure of that several times in the past, leaving me to wish the ground would just swallow me whole with her drunk-ass antics in front of an audience.

So I try to fade into the background, like I usually do. Head lowered, I sip the coffee Edward poured so lovingly into my cup. Again, damn him for being this nice.

"You'll never learn, will you?" The disdain showing on Emmett's face is like a punch to my gut. But he doesn't get it. He never did and he never will. He doesn't know what it's like to search desperately for something – something you can't even name properly yourself. He's found his place in this world, feeling secure with who he is and where he is in his life, whereas I'm frantically searching for whatever it is that will make me feel whole. He certainly doesn't know what it's like to search for that one long-lost puzzle piece that will finally complete the picture. He's never had to beg for anyone's approval; he's loved unconditionally, admired for his sunny nature. No one ever questions if he has a dark side to him. He can't possibly be a bad guy. But sometimes he is. Aiming perfectly to the core. Hurting me where he knows it stings most. It's what he does best. The skill to aim his poison right at my inability to love myself. He knows exactly how to burst my bubble.

He's being a little shit, but I can't help agreeing with him. He's right. Always is. But the Captain's arm around my shoulders – squeezing me tight – might beg to differ. Might. I'm not sure – it's still hard for me to read him. After all, it hasn't been that long since I've known the Captain, and this is exactly what Emmett means.

"You know, Bella... it's why you couldn't keep me in the first place. I was never good enough for Your Highness – always on the prowl for something or someone better."

It slowly dawns on me that if he ever knew me as well as he claims to, he'd know there'd never be anyone better than him. There was never anyone better than him... Even when he made me feel so small at times. I worshipped the ground he walked on.

"Bella?" Edward's voice is tentative, slightly begging and demanding at the same time, if that even makes any sense. It does in my head. I know what he wants me to do, but I rather keep my face buried in my coffee mug, pretending there's nothing around me other than the blue, slightly stormy ocean.

I knew my past might eventually come back to bite me in the ass. So far, I've been lucky, but I've been ready to face the music for a long time now. Well, not really, but I just didn't think it'd be my best friend that would judge me for it.

"Yeah, Edward. From what I've heard, you better be prepared to get kicked in the nuts." I don't know where Rosalie gets her courage from, but I'm quite impressed. For someone who's never even met me before, she seems to have quite the opinion about me. I want to strangle her artificial blonde ass for that. But that's something I'd never do. After all, my gran taught me some manners. And sometimes I want to curse her for raising me right. I'd feel better if I was an asshole, of that I'm sure.

"For fuck's sake, Bella! Tell them to fuck off. Why aren't you speaking up for yourself? And seriously, _that_ guy used to be your best friend?"

"What do you want me to do, Edward? Obviously I _am_ easy. Where's the sense in denying the truth when it sits right next to me?" My voice is nothing more than a whisper.

"No, you're not a slut, and this will be addressed at a later time. If you won't do it, Bella, I will."

With murder in his eyes, Edward turns to Emmett and tells him back the hell off.

"You have no fucking clue. None whatsoever. For someone wanting to be a psychologist, you're awfully dense."

I should stand up for myself, no? It's just that I can't. This situation reminds me too much of the times, when some weekends, I would barely eat, or sleep, too focused on a book to stop. When I couldn't stop. Or the times when I needed to wake up and go to work, but I was not able to. No matter that my brain knew I had to, that there are consequences – like losing my job – for the life of me I just couldn't. All I knew was this needy feeling. A need anchored so deep inside of me, a need I couldn't even name, but paralyzing me all the same. It's longing, that I know – but for what?

So yeah, like the coward that I am, I leave the fucking dining room, sprinting away and ignoring Edward's calls for me to wait, even though I know this too will come back later to bite me in the ass. I just run – away from this boat, away from this harbor and right into the city where life is raving and colorful. And hopefully there's a bar that is open this goddamn early.

_* mlty *_

It's dark when I decide to make my way back to the boat – probably 1 AM, but I don't know for sure. I'm sweaty, the skirt clinging to my thighs. My feet hurt from all the walking around trying to kill time, and my well deserved-buzz is long gone. But let's face it – I have to go back eventually since we're leaving tomorrow for another island. My heart is beating in overdrive, hammering against my ribcage. Call it nervousness or simply bad conscience. Calling it Edward would suffice, too. And if there was a way to sneak into my cabin unnoticed, I should have probably figured that out way sooner. I'm such a douche.

I see the ship clearly now, bathed in the moonlight. A sight to behold if it weren't for the fact that every step toward it felt like attending your own funeral. Just a few more steps...

"Fancy seeing you here."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He certainly came out of nowhere, and the way he firmly grips me by the arm tells me he doesn't fancy seeing me at all.

Then everything happens so fast, I don't have time to wrap my head around it. With quick strides, he drags me behind him.

Secure grip...

Left foot, right foot, repeat...

Up the stairs we go...

Onto the sundeck...

Under the night sky where all is calm...

One turn...

One push...

And I'm standing before the railing. My back to his front, watching the city lights in the distance, but hearing nothing other my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. Adrenaline rushes through my veins.

"Grip the railing with both hands. Arch your back. Spread your legs. Now."

"Edward?"

"Now." The calmness in his voice is stunning, its commanding undertone even more. He takes my hands and puts them on the railing. It happens all so fast, and here I am – like a puppet on his strings – my waist pulled backwards by his hands, arching me, his foot in between mine forcing them apart. I am bent, my ass sticking high in the air. For him to do as he wishes. And it's just that what he does.

I feel my skirt being lifted. My panties are next, yanked down – they pool at my feet. His hand at my neck feels oddly reassuring, but the resounding slap he delivers on my now bare ass leaves me startled and breathless. Not startled enough to miss the moan that just left my mouth, nor the smack that just landed on the opposite cheek.

"You know what this is for, don't you, Bella?"

I murmur my understanding. Because, yeah, I do.

"Speak up."

"Yes, I know. Because I ran away." My voice is nothing but a whisper, but he hears it anyway, never stopping the smacking on my ass as he asks me why else. It's hard to concentrate and give him an answer when my butt is all warm and tingly, spreading a serene feeling through my body. I can feel my brain shutting down, only able to focus on this glorious feeling he provides. There is a bit of shame lurking somewhere in my mind, but it's fading more and more with every slap Edward delivers.

"It's for calling yourself a slut. You might not know any better, but I do."

His hands are soft now, stroking my cheeks and spreading the warmth and wandering up to my shirt. Finding his way beneath it, he strokes my belly and up, up, up until he finds my bra. With a swift tug the useless thing is shoved up to my collarbone, leaving me bare to his roaming hands and his fingers to pull my nipples. Quite hard. I want to scream, but not from pain. This is liberating. A few moments of fondling later, his hands are gone and only the clanging of his belt is heard, the rustling as he shoves his pants down his thighs. At least, that's what I hope he does. I don't dare to turn around and check, though.

"Turn around."

His calm but demanding voice gives me the shivers. A second later I stand facing him, probably looking like a hot mess with my panties at my feet and my shirt over my breasts.

"On your knees."

Yeah, there is no more blood in my brain; for once it is utterly silent in my head, and I do as I'm told. No hesitation. No questions ask.

The sight that greets me is nearly blinding. What a fine specimen he is, his arousal standing proud before my eyes.

"Suck."

_Yes, please_, is all I can think and I dive right in, trying my best not to disappoint. His right hand is stroking my hair, and it makes me feel oddly secure. The little moans out of his mouth make me feel a little proud.

"Deeper."

I really try not to gag, but... well, he isn't exactly small.

"Good girl. Now stand up and turn around again."

I resume my position against the railing, back arched, ass sticking out and I feel his hand between my thighs. The wetness he finds there isn't surprising to him.

"That's what I thought." It's just a whisper, probably not meant for me to hear, but still I detect a certain proudness there.

The unmistakable sound of a condom wrapper torn is heard, despite from my heavy panting. The expected intrusion isn't coming, though. No, first comes a hard smack to my ass and then – then he's finally there, filling me, making me moan, making me tremble. With precise movements and very skillful fingers below my navel, he has me on the edge in no time, burning for him. One hand in my hair, holding me in place, and one last slap and then I fall, barely hearing him get to his own release.

For all the pleasure I feel, tears start to pool in my eyes, and I cannot for the life of me suppress a sob. Again, it's not from pain, though my butt stings quite a bit – no – all I feel is relief and peace. I'm smiling but sobbing. For once nothing matters other than Edward as he takes me into his strong arms and hugs me so tight to his chest. It's hard to breathe, but there's nowhere I'd rather be.

"We're gonna be all right, baby.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**I'm sorry for making you wait so long...**

**Real life, bla bla **

**Mel is my Beta and I adore her.  
><strong>


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